Help Me, Please
by Artemis024
Summary: What would have happened if Abby Lockhart didn’t report John Carter about the drugs? His addictions continued. He never went to rehab. But someone does find out. Oh, and Doug came home to Carol, not the other way around. Read and see…
1. Dr John Truman Carter III, MD

Tag line: What would have happened if Abby Lockhart didn't report John Carter about the drugs? His addictions continued. He never went to rehab. But someone does find out. (Oh, and Doug came home to Carol, not the other way around.) Read and see.  
  
Chapter 1: July 12, 2000, 5AM, My apartment (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
My name is Dr. John Truman Carter III, M.D. I am a trauma room doctor at Cook County General Hospital in Chicago. The Windy City. I always thought it was a city of opportunity. CCGH was where I was a med-student. I am thirty years old and have been a doctor here for several years. I remember being a young boy and dreaming of having this career, mainly because of my brother. He died of leukemia when I was only eight years old. But some days, most days now, I wish I had chosen a different career. On Valentines Day this year I was stabbed twice in the back by a patient of my med student, Lucy Knight. The patient's name was Paul Sobriki. It wasn't his fault. He is schizophrenic and in a mental institution now. But he killed Lucy, and destroyed my life. No, that's wrong. I destroyed my own life, and I am the reason Lucy is dead. I neglected to get a psych consult down for Sobriki. And because of that everything has gone to hell. Now I am a thirty-year-old doctor who has chronic back pains and a guilty conscience. I wake up every morning wishing that I were the one who died, not Lucy. Poor Lucy. She was such a bright girl.  
  
I look into the mirror. My eyes are not only sleep-deprived this morning, but sunken as well. I don't look like myself anymore. My eyes are blank, my face is pale, and I look like a skeleton. I can't believe this is me. What's happened?  
  
Pain strikes my back. Just another thing that has gone wrong. I am self- prescribing my medicine now, and that is never something a doctor should do. But I am in so much pain. I have to. People would understand after all that I have been through. I had to learn how to walk again. I still don't have a full range of motion. In the beginning I took the prescribed amounts from my doctor, but it wasn't helping. I needed more. So I got my prescription boosted. But that still wasn't enough. I wrote my own prescriptions. But I made one slip-up. I took the leftover fentynal from a trauma victim and once everyone was gone I injected it into my wrist. And then Nurse Abby Lockhart walked in. What was she doing in there? I think she saw me, but if she did, she never told anyone. So maybe she didn't see it. Please, God, make her not see me. I remember wishing that. It's been a few months since the incident and no one has confronted me of the drug use. Drug use? That makes me sound like a junkie. I am not a junkie. I use the medicine as medicine.not drugs. I use it for my pain, not pleasure. Sometimes I wish it was for pleasure, and that the whole Sobriki incident hadn't happened. But I can't change the past.  
  
Mark Greene is worried about me. I can tell by the looks he gives me. His eyes are so sympathetic, yet at the same time it seems as if he is trying to look into my soul. He kept on pestering me to see someone about the attack. I finally caved. He thinks I have a shrink to talk to. Gamma wanted me to quit form the hospital, but I can't give up.not yet. The nurses are always telling me to smile more. I should probably practice that. I smile into the mirror. I try. Damn I look so fake. No wonder everyone is worried about me. I can't even convince myself that I am okay.  
  
Okay. Now onto the scale. I lost a good amount of weight while I was recuperating from the attack and I have continued to steadily lose weight over the past few months. I guess it's a side effect from the medicine. Plus I haven't been nearly as hungry as I used to be. Before the stabbing I weighed around 185 pounds. And today.I step onto the scale.I weight 150 pounds. I can't lose much more, mainly because I don't have much to lose. But also I think people are noticing. I have been wearing extra layers of clothes to make me look larger than I am. I slip another sweater over my head. Good enough.  
  
Inside the medicine cabinet are the three bottles I need. The first is my antidepressant. Okay, I admit it I am a little depressed. But who wouldn't be after all that I have gone through? I take one of those. Next is my Vicodine. There are only two tablets left. I should only take one, but my back is really hurting today. I take both. I don't think the two tablets will even dent into the pain. So I go onto the third bottle. I study the labels. It is prescription medicine from one of my patients: Ms. Eva Mcyntire. She passed away a couple of days ago and I took her medicine. I am a thief. What's happened to me? No, I am fine. I am the same man I always have been. It is a stronger dosage of Vicodine. I pop two of these into my mouth, and as I am about to leave, I grab the bottle in case I need more later today.  
  
The worst I have ever been was when I used heroin. I know that was wrong. I knew I had a problem then, so I stopped that. I don't want to turn into my cousin, Chase. He is a true junkie. Or should I say he was a true junkie? Now he is a vegetable. He is so severely brain damaged that he needs to live in a nursing home, and it's all because of the heroin. After the heroin, I switched to morphine. It's not as bad. We give it to patients so I am okay with taking it. And I have almost stopped taking that. Only when the pain gets really bad will I take morphine. I can get the morphine in the supply room, but I have to be careful not to take it too often. I stick with the Vicodine and fentynal now. 


	2. Smoking

Chapter 2: Same day, NOON, Ambulance Bay (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
It's nice to have a break from all of the death and suffering, even if it is only for fifteen minutes. It's enough time to have a cigarette or two if I need it. And this was one of the best cigarettes I have ever had. Marlboro sure knows how to make them. Gamma doesn't approve of my smoking so I told her I quit. That was when I was still living with her after the attack. But late at night and at work I still would light up often. I have cut back though. A month ago I was going through two packs a day. Now it's closer to one. I hear someone walking up behind me.  
  
"Isn't it funny how so many doctors smoke? You'd think we of all people would know better."  
  
I turned. It is Mark Greene. He gives me this speech every time he sees me smoking. Why can't he mind his own damn business? I just say, "Yup," and nod as he sits next to me.  
  
"I thought you told me you quit?"  
  
"I did, but you remember how hard it was for you?"  
  
"Yeah," Mark chuckled to himself, "I couldn't have been easy to deal with. But it feels so nice to be free of addiction."  
  
I can feel myself tense up at that word "addiction." Was Mark implying something? "No," I tell myself, "stop being so paranoid." "I bet," I finally reply to Mark.  
  
"Are you feeling ok, Carter?"  
  
"Yeah," I take a long drag, "Why do you ask?"  
  
"You just seem withdrawn.in pain."  
  
"Nope, my back is fine.the meds are doing their magic." And now for the fake grin. I smile at Mark.  
  
"I didn't really mean your back, although that is good to hear. I meant, well," Mark was never good at dealings with emotions, "If you ever need someone to talk to, I mean besides a shrink, I'm here."  
  
"Thanks, Dr. Greene. That's comforting." I turn my attention back to my cigarette.  
  
Mark sighs. "What time are you on again?" he asks.  
  
"Five minutes."  
  
"Ok, I'll see you in there." Mark stands up.  
  
"Yep. Bye." 


	3. Scars

Chapter 3: Same day, NOON, Ambulance Bay (Mark Greene's Point of View):  
  
Something is wrong with Carter, and I can feel it. Why does he keep closing us out? I want to help him so bad, but I don't know what to help with. I sit here talking to him about his smoking, but I can't concentrate. I remember when he was a bright-eyed med-student. But everything changes. Mr. Sobriki destroyed his life. Carter now only has a negative outlook on life and the future. How can I help him?  
  
As I leave to go back into the hospital, I glance back at the young doctor. Something catches my eye, but I don't get a good look. It was scars on Carter's wrist. Scars? It takes me a minute to process this. Oh my goodness! Is Carter suicidal? How can he be? It must have been a shadow.or my imagination. I know Carter has been depressed lately, but after nearly losing his life a few months ago, wouldn't he now want to live it to the fullest?  
  
I make my way into the staff lounge and to my locker. On the sofa, Carol and Doug sit, cuddling.  
  
I don't turn around when I say, "Have you guys noticed anything odd about Carter? I mean, has he been acting different than before, or is it just me?" I turn and look at them.  
  
They had stopped cuddling and are now looking at the floor, as if they had done something wrong.  
  
"No," Doug says as he looks at me, "It's not you. I noticed it to. But I figured that it was just posttraumatic stress. After what you told me happened to him, I think any of us would act a little different."  
  
"Yeah, I guess."  
  
Carol speaks up, "Is he seeing anyone?"  
  
"He says he is," I reply.  
  
"But you don't believe him, do you?" Doug asks.  
  
"No." I close my locker. "Could you keep an eye on him, though? I thought I saw some scars on his wrist."  
  
Carol gasps, "You don't think he-"  
  
"No, at least I hope not." And with that I walk out of the lounge and onto my duties. 


	4. Basketball

Chapter 4: July 15, 2000, 3PM, Ambulance Bay (Mark Greene's Point of View):  
  
Doug and Peter were outside playing basketball. It was drizzling, but that didn't stop them. I watch as Carter leaves the hospital after just finishing his shift. I can barely hear their conversation.  
  
"Hey Carter," Doug says, "You off?"  
  
"Yeah." He puts his bag over his shoulder.  
  
"Come play ball. I bet I could win against you and Peter."  
  
"It's on, man," Peter responds.  
  
But Carter says, "No thanks. My back is a little sore." He lights a cigarette as he starts walking away.  
  
"Yeah, sure," Doug says to him, "You wouldn't be able to catch your breath anyway, Smokey."  
  
"Fine, I'll play," Carter takes one last, long drag and then flicks the cigarette to the side.  
  
"That's my boy," Peter replies.  
  
It looks to me like Carter is having fun playing with them, although his back appeared to be hurting. I am still watching from inside the hospital. I am so glad that the young doctor is enjoying himself again; he actually looked happy. I have another memory of when this kind of competition was almost a daily event for us. Doug had done the right thing, inviting him to join. But the game started getting rough. I see Carter go for the ball as it comes down from a shot. Doug playfully shoves him out of the way, just hard enough to knock him to the ground. I hear Carter yelp as his back hits the pavement. Without thinking, I run out to the men and kneel next to Carter.  
  
"Peter get a gurney out here," I order.  
  
"No," Carter replies, "I'm ok, really." He winces in pain.  
  
"No you're not. At least let someone look at your back. You might have injured it again."  
  
"No!" Carter says in a sterner voice.  
  
"I'm really sorry about that Carter," says Doug, "Let me help you up." He starts pulling Carter up by the elbow. Without intent, this action slid Carter's watch down slightly.  
  
The young doctor shruggs off Doug's help and responds, "I'm ok, I am." He stands up on his own. "You people don't have to treat me like glass. I'm not that fragile. I gotta run. Bye." He puts his bag back on his shoulder and lights up another cigarette as he walks toward the El.  
  
Still at the basketball hoop, Doug says to me, "I saw them, I saw the scars."  
  
"What scars?" Peter asks, completely in the dark.  
  
"I guess you should know," I reply. I tell Peter about the scars on Carter's wrist, and about what our idea is.  
  
"Suicidal? Carter?" Peter asks, "No way, man. Not Carter."  
  
"The scars are there-"  
  
"And they could be from anything," Peter interrupts.  
  
"I'm not going to argue with you, Peter," I continue, "But now you know what we are talking about."  
  
"Yeah, thanks. I think I will talk to him about it tomorrow." Peter's pager goes off. "I have to go."  
  
"Peter, if you talk to him just.be gentle," I advise.  
  
"Yeah, I know." Peter gives us one of his crooked smiles before he goes back in the ER.  
  
"You know," Doug says, "I don't think 'gentle' is in Peter's vocabulary."  
  
"That's what I'm afraid of," I reply. 


	5. Spider Bites

Chapter 5: July 16, 2000, 5AM, Cafeteria (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
I look down at my tray as I sit at a table.  
  
"How nutritious," I mumble to myself. It is a carton of orange juice. That's all. "At least I have my Vitamin C."  
  
"Hey, Carter." It is Peter with his own tray of food: a bagel with cream cheese, and a carton of skim milk. He sits across the table from me. "Is that all you're going to have?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm not really hungry"  
  
"I've noticed." Peter picks up his bagel but quickly sets it back down and continues, "I think we need to talk, Carter."  
  
"About what?" Butterflies are forming in my stomach, but I try to act normal.  
  
"About you. Something is wrong and you need to let us help. We can all see it. And we are all worried."  
  
"You have nothing to worry about, Dr. Benton-"  
  
"Damn it Carter, we can all see that you are depressed!" Peter hisses, "You are always down, and you stopped eating a while ago. Either you are depressed or you have an eating disorder. What are you now? 160? 155?"  
  
I am staring at my tray when I respond, "145."  
  
"Shit," Peter mutters under his breath. "I need you to promise me something Carter. I need you to promise that you will start eating more. It is dangerous for someone your height to be this thin."  
  
"Okay."  
  
Peter quickly eats his bagel in silence. He stands up but before he leaves he continues, "And also promise me that if you get too depressed you won't do something stupid."  
  
I look up. "What do you mean 'stupid'? Yeah I might be a little depressed. But what do you mean 'stupid'?"  
  
"I didn't mean anything. I just want to make sure that you are safe." I can tell that Peter is nervous. That rarely happens.  
  
"Safe? Do you.... Do you think that I'm suicidal? I can't believe you." I am furious. I stand up. But before Peter can correct his words, I walk away and am out of the cafeteria. As I race my way through the ER, I accidentally knock into Dr. Dave Malluchi, who had been speaking with Doug, but I am more stunned than the two other doctors, I can tell.  
  
"You okay there, buddy?" Dave asks me.  
  
"Why is everyone asking me that?" I demand. What is wrong with everyone today?  
  
"Slow down Carter," Doug adds. He is on one side of me while Dave is on the other. I frantically look around the ER for an exit. They have trapped me in, and I am not sure which way I am facing. Doug continues, "Why don't you just go into the lounge and relax for a few minutes."  
  
"I don't need to relax! Why can't everyone just leave me alone and let me do my work?!" From my outburst Kerry Weaver and Mark had come. Benton saw all of them around me apparently and joined in. I am surrounded. "Oh, this is great," I say, "Who's attending to the patients?"  
  
"What's going on here?" Kerry asks. "Carter, go home for the rest of your shift and get some sleep."  
  
"I don't need sleep," I respond to her, practically shouting. "I came here today to work, but you people won't let me do that. You keep bombarding me with questions and advice. But if you really want me to leave I will." I tried getting away, but I must have done something wrong. I vaguely recall rubbing my wrist. What do they think? Do they really think that I am suicidal? Before I know it, Mark, Doug, and Peter have me restrained. I call out, "Kerry, Dave, stop them."  
  
But Mark calls out, "Malik, get a gurney and soft restraints!" They load me on it. Patients are watching as one of County Hospital's doctors is tied up. I am so embarrassed. Peter and Doug are pushing me toward the elevator. I have given up thrashing, but now I hear Kerry shouting at Mark, "What the hell is all of this about? What do you think you are doing?" Dave was probably still standing there confused as always. Then I hear Mark respond, "He is suicidal. We need to get him some help before he blows."  
  
That makes me snap. Right before I am wheeled into the elevator I shout out, "I am not suicidal! I never have been! You don't know what you are talking about!"  
  
In the elevator Peter says to me, "Just calm down, man." 'Man' is something Peter only says to someone he truly cares about. But I don't want him to care about me right now. I want him to let me go. My back is throbbing from being thrown onto the gurney, so I stop moving. I close my eyes and breath deeply, trying not to think of the pain.  
  
"Are you okay there, Carter?" Doug asks me.  
  
I don't respond. I simply take a deep breath and blow it out through my mouth.  
  
I hear Doug mumble to Peter, "At least he doesn't need to be sedated."  
  
"Yeah," is the only response Peter gives.  
  
They put me in the psych ward. I don't belong here. People like Paul Sobriki belong here, not me. Paul Sobriki: If only I had gotten him up here sooner, none of this would be happening. But like I said, I can't change the past. So I cooperate. Within minutes a psychiatrist is with me, sitting beside my gurney.  
  
"My name is Dr. Montgomery. Can you tell me what happened today John?" she asks. I can't see her very well because of the angle I am laying at, but she sounds young.  
  
"No, actually I can't. But I can tell you what I think happened." Stay calm, stay calm, I keep reminding myself. Act like nothing is wrong.  
  
"Okay, please do."  
  
"First, is there anyone else in the room besides you and me?"  
  
"No, it's just us. Would you like someone else here?"  
  
"No, no." I take a deep breath. "I was in the cafeteria eating breakfast with Dr. Benton, and he accuses, no that's not a good word for it, he believes that I am suicidal and tells me not to do anything rash. I am not suicidal, Doctor, nor have I ever been." That was a lie, but she didn't need to know that. Anyways, I'm not that bad.I just think about it sometimes. "I got a little too upset and stormed off, and in the ER I felt like I was ganged up on by all the doctors and practically tackled onto the gurney." I close my eyes for a dramatic ending to my short story.  
  
"I know that you have had a hard few months-"  
  
"Everyone goes through tough times."  
  
"Yes, but I know what happened to you. I think your co-workers are just a little concerned about you. How have you been feeling since the attack?"  
  
"I've had my ups and downs. But I think I am handling it pretty well now. I have to accept what happened. It's in the past, and I can't change it," Wow that sounded convincing, even to me.  
  
"You look a little thin. How has your appetite been recently?"  
  
"It's starting to come back. I'm not going to lie to you," This whole conversation has been a lie so far. I continue, "I wasn't eating much for a while, but I am again, slowly."  
  
The doctor says to me, "Can I see your wrists?"  
  
"Sure," I respond. I should do whatever she says. My track marks were almost healed and I had a story planned for them anyway. The doctor peers at my right wrist first. There are no marks on that one. After walking around to the other side of the bed, she takes off my watch and clears her throat. While she was inspecting my wrists I get a look of her. She is about thirty five, I'd say, and somewhat attractive, although she doesn't look like my type.  
  
She says, "I see a couple of marks here, right around the vein. Can you tell me about them?"  
  
"Yeah, when I was healing from the attack I was given lots of time off, so once I felt up to it, I spent a week at my family's cabin in Wisconsin. Sometime when I was up there I got a couple of spider bites. You'd never guess how much those things hurt. I have one on my leg too, if you want to see it." That one was a real spider bite from the trip. Yes, I did go on a trip to Wisconsin. Spider bites really do look like track marks. I discovered that with Chase when he told me that one of his was a bite and I fell for it. I am a doctor and I fell for it. Perfect plan.  
  
"No, that's okay." She sighs, "Well, I'm glad to say that you seem okay to me. But you shouldn't have gotten so upset downstairs."  
  
"I know."  
  
"I suggest you take a couple of days off from work. The ER can be a stressful place."  
  
"You're telling me." I smile.  
  
"I'll get a nurse to take these restraints off of you, and you will be free to go. But please promise me that if you need to talk, you won't hesitate to come up here. There is always someone free in this ward, just for that."  
  
"I will, and thank you, Doctor." I say, and she left.  
  
Within fifteen minutes I am released from the psych ward and back down in the ER. I find Kerry and tell her, "I am going home for the day, orders of the psychiatrist I was forced to see in restraints. In fact, she said I should take a few days off from work and I think I will. You know, just to cool off from this whole incident."  
  
"I am very sorry about all of this, John. Is there anyway that I can make this up to you?"  
  
"You didn't do anything. Just let me cool down."  
  
"Ok."  
  
"I'll call you tomorrow and tell you my plans." I walk outside without hearing her response and I light another cigarette. 


	6. Reprimanded

Chapter 6: July 16, 2000, 8AM, Doctor's Lounge (Kerry Weaver's Point of View):  
  
"This is inexcusable!" I shout at the three men. "What possessed you to kidnap Carter?"  
  
"We thought he needed our help-" Mark says.  
  
"But there are better ways of helping someone than tackling them. That's what he told the doctor upstairs: that you tackled him."  
  
"I'm sorry, Kerry," he continues.  
  
"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Carter! All three of you need to! You are very lucky that he just walked away. You are so very lucky that he went home to cool down. You do remember that Carter is a very powerful man in this city. He could have pressed charges if he wanted to. Not against the hospital, against you clowns! If he snaps his fingers he could have you executed," Okay, so that was a large exaggeration and they all knew it, but I am making a good point. They could all get in a lot of trouble for this incident. "I know just as well as you that Carter has not been himself recently, but the doctor said he is fine. He experienced a traumatic attack. Do you understand? He was attacked. You, Peter and Mark, worked on his almost deceased body. You have to understand that he needs time to cope with this."  
  
"But we saw the scars on his wrist and we were concerned-"  
  
"That's what communication is for! Try talking to him next time. And listen if he says he is okay. They were spider bites for Christ's sake!" Now it is time for me to storm out. I walk to the admit desk and call Carter's house.  
  
"Hi, John, this is Kerry."  
  
"Hello," he responds.  
  
"I just wanted to apologize for the incident this morning."  
  
"It's okay, Kerry. They were just looking out for me. Listen I am coming back to work on the 18th at my regular shift, okay?"  
  
"Yeah, that sounds good. I'll have someone cover for you until then."  
  
"Goodbye."  
  
"Bye." And I hung up the phone. 


	7. The Bathroom

Chapter 7: July 18, 2000, 10AM, Admit Desk (Doug Ross's Point of View):  
  
I see Carter sitting outside the hospital on a bench, taking another one of his cigarette breaks. He is always taking a cigarette break. When I started working here again and saw him smoke, I was quite stunned. Don't get me wrong; anyone can smoke if they choose to. I used to smoke when I was younger, but I never thought Carter would make that choice. It seems like he is out there more often than in the hospital. I just hope that cancer doesn't run in his family, or..well, you get the idea. I figure now is as good of a time as any to apologize. I walk out to the bench and sit down next to him.  
  
"Please," Carter says, "I don't need another lecture from you about smoking, and you can tell Mark to knock it off too, and everyone else telling me I'm too thin, or too depressed, or, or that I am too suicidal. Even I didn't realize that one."  
  
"But you realized the others?"  
  
"Well," he pauses, "Yeah, I noticed."  
  
Now I am a little concerned but I decide to brush it off. He has been through a lot recently, and he knows that we are worried about him, and he says he understands why.  
  
Carter continues, "Next people are going to start to complain about my drinking."  
  
"Should we be worried about your drinking?" I ask, "I am your friend and you can ask me for help if you need it-"  
  
Carter waves away this thought, "This is what I mean," he takes a drag from his cigarette, "I don't need people to be worried about anything. I know I haven't been myself recently, and I am trying to work on that, honestly. People are just over reacting, and you all need to understand that I simply need some time." He flicks away the butt of the cigarette; he had smoked it to the filter. Carter starts walking into the hospital and I follow him. He is limping and I can tell that he is in a lot of pain.  
  
"Is your back bothering you, Carter?" I ask.  
  
"No, I'm fine," and he keeps walking.  
  
I never got the chance to apologize. Well, that's not true. I could have started out by apologizing. I had a hundred chances. At the admit desk, while Carter is talking to Randi, I interrupt.  
  
I say, "Hey Carter, I really need to talk to you," We are walking down the hallway now. He seems rushed.  
  
"Um, yeah. Can I meet you in the lounge in a couple minutes?" he asks as he stops in the middle of the hall.  
  
"Yeah, that works," but I am not even sure if Carter hears me, since he ducked into the bathroom quite quickly. I look at my watch. Shit, I have a meeting in five minutes. What I need to say, I can tell him in the bathroom. So I walk in and quickly say, "Carter I just wanted to apologize for what happened the other day-" I had been looking at the floor as I said that, but when I look up, I see Carter standing by the sinks with a syringe going into his wrist. 


	8. Carter, Caught In The Act

Chapter 8: July 18, 2000, 10:15AM, Men's Bathroom (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
** Thanks for the great reviews everyone! This is my first fanfic, and I am loving writing it. Should I continue? **  
  
Finally I got away from him. I thought he would never stop talking to me. Sneaking into the washroom was the best idea I've had in years. Unfortunately I will have to talk to him in a few minutes, and by then I will be high. That could be good or bad. I won't inject it. But my back is hurting so bad! It's just a little morphine. I won't shoot as much as I planned. The bottle of morphine is sitting on the counter-top, and I draw some medicine. Right as I stick myself with the needle and begin to push the meds, I hear Doug's voice.  
  
"Carter I just wanted to apologize for what happened the other day." I hadn't even heard him walk in. But now we stand in the bathroom staring at each other. I continue to inject the morphine, glancing down for an instant. I am scared out of my mind, but I try to act as calm as possible.  
  
"You should leave," I tell him, but I don't think he heard me.  
  
He responds by asking, "My that's a strange looking spider. But this does explain a lot. What.what.um.what is going on in here?" He looks at me curiously, almost stunned.  
  
"This doesn't concern you. I think you should leave," I repeat.  
  
He licks his lips and mumbles, "Uh-huh. You think I should leave?"  
  
"Yes, yes I do." My mind is racing. I don't know what I should do.  
  
Doug steps toward me and picks up the bottle. He examines the label and then sets it back down on the counter next to the used syringe.  
  
He gives me a piercing stare in my eyes and says, "Here I thought you were trying to tell me you had a drinking problem. But it turns out it's a drug problem."  
  
"I don't have a drug problem-"  
  
"Ok, then what the hell is this?" He gives me a glimpse of a half-smile, but it disappears, as if he doesn't exactly know what to do now.  
  
I continue, "It's.it's hard to explain."  
  
"I don't think we have anything more to discuss." He walks to the door.  
  
"Wait!" I need to stop him; "You aren't going to tell anyone about this, are you?" I chuckle a little, and he can tell the desperation in my voice, I know it.  
  
"About what? That nasty new spider bite you have on your wrist? No, that's up to you. But if someone asks me about this, I'm not going to lie either. Just don't ask me to dress the bite." He leaves the bathroom and I stand there alone. I take the bottle of morphine and slip it in my lab coat pocket. As I am leaving the bathroom, I toss the syringe in the garbage.  
  
I was stupid, so very stupid. Why did I inject myself in the open? I could have easily gone into one of the stalls, and all of this would have been avoided. But I think to myself, why am I upset? I should let the morphine run through my system and not inject myself again. If they want to drug test me, it will come back positive anyway. They know I am on pain medicine for my back. Doug won't say anything. Will he? 


	9. I am not a drug addict!

Chapter 9: July 30, 2000, 7PM, Carter's Apartment (Doug Ross's Point of View):  
  
** So, I kinda messed up on the chapters earlier (the were repeated by accident) but that is corrected. If you just jumped to this chapter you may want to go back to the current chapter 8 to make sure you have read it (I just put that one up a minute ago). **  
  
For the past few days Carter has been calling in to work sick. He claims to have the stomach flu, but I don't believe him one bit. I hate being his fucking babysitter. He didn't ask me to help, but he needs it. Someone needs to help him, and since I know what's wrong, I figure he would let me help before he would let anyone else. That's a laugh. He won't let me help either, I know it. He's too stubborn, plus I don't think he sees the problem he has.  
  
I am standing outside of his apartment building now, and I buzz up to his room. It takes him a long time to answer.  
  
"Who is it?"  
  
"It's Doug Ross. Can I come up? I need to talk to you."  
  
"Um.yeah. You know, how about I come down to see you?"  
  
He is down in a couple of minutes. I am shocked by his appearance. I have never seen him dressed so informally. It isn't even that he is informal, just messy. He is wearing an undershirt and wrinkled trousers. His face is unshaven and his hair was greasy. You'd never guess that this man is the heir to millions of dollars. He lights a cigarette and as he does this I get a glance at his wrist. There are two infected track marks, not to mention the mark from a couple weeks ago when I caught him. That one is almost healed.  
  
I say, "You should really talk to your Super about those damn spiders. They are eating you alive."  
  
"I don't want to talk about this. I think you should leave."  
  
"You know," I say, "That seems to be your theme song. You always want people to leave, to stop bothering you, to ignore your problems. Well, this isn't a problem that I can ignore." He pretends that he isn't listening, but I know he is. "This decision of yours, to be a drug addict," he looks at me now, and I continue, "it affects all the patients you see. They depend on you to help them, but you are too high on shit to do anything for them."  
  
"First of all!" He is screaming at me but I don't think he realizes it. "I am not a drug addict! I take medicine for my back! Prescribed medicine!"  
  
"Is that morphine of yours prescribed?!"  
  
He grits his teeth as he says, "I only take what I need."  
  
"That's sad, that you need the drugs. I feel sorry for you." I start to walk away, but Carter grabs my shirt collar and pulls me back. I have never known Carter to be a violent person, ever. I am genuinely shocked by this and am unsure of what to do, so I do nothing.  
  
He powerfully says to me, "You need to learn to mind your own business, Dr. Ross. If I need help, ever, I will find it. I don't need people assuming shit about me. I am not a drug addict!" He shoves me back.  
  
I am fuming now. I came to offer my assistance in Carter's recovery, but that offer is no longer on the table. "If I see you get high, or know that you are high, or even suspect that you might have been shooting up, I will not hesitate to report you to Weaver and Greene. Don't test me." I walk away and can feel his eyes follow me. 


	10. Prescriptions

Chapter 10: August 12, 2000, 5PM, Admit Desk (Doug Ross's Point of View):  
  
I should have reported Carter when I first caught him. Why did I give him a chance to come clean on his own? Of course I could still report him, but he is starting to act like himself again. Maybe he never had a problem and I was over reacting. Maybe he is all better now. Everyone goes through a few bad times in his or her life. Maybe this was one of his bad times and now that the phase has passed, he will be okay. Why am I making excuses for Carter? I should be thinking of ways to help him not ways to ignore his addiction.  
  
Okay, he's coming in. What was I talking about that Carter is getting better? Today he looks almost as bad as the night I stopped by his apartment. Granted he is wearing clean clothes and they aren't too badly wrinkled, but he is unshaven again, and he doesn't look anything like the old Carter, the Carter I knew years back when he was in medical school.  
  
From across the ER I hear Weaver shout, "What's wrong with you Carter? You're ten minutes late and you look like hell! Get in the lounge and clean yourself up or go home!" I think this is the first time Weaver and I shared the same thought. Carter does not give a verbal response but does as he is told. I follow him into the lounge. When I enter, Carter is already at his locker and I see him popping a pill in his mouth.  
  
I clear my throat and Carter turns to me. I say, "I want to know what you think you're doing?"  
  
He turns back around and continues tidying up. Just as I am about to walk up to him, Carter responds, "Regarding what?"  
  
"Regarding the pill I just saw you take. Carter I won't hesitate to report you-"  
  
He looks at me again and tosses me a prescription bottle. I look at the label and sure enough it says, "Dr. Jonathan Truman Carter III."  
  
"Next time," he says to me, "You shouldn't assume the worst."  
  
"With you it's hard not to." I toss back the bottle. "What else did you take today?"  
  
"Only what I needed to." He twists around and winces from the pain. It is so bad that he needs to hold himself up against the locker. I rush to him and put his arm around my shoulder. We slowly make our way to the sofa and I sit him down, where he proceeds to take another one of his pills. I take the bottle away from him now and sit down next to him. "You have to stop this John." I don't think I have ever called him by his first mane before, but it seems appropriate. "The bottle says to take one every four to six hours-"  
  
"Or as needed. And I needed it." I look at him and he continues with, "I didn't mean that. I don't need it. But it helps me get rid of the pain."  
  
"Because you are high!" As I shout this, Weaver comes in.  
  
She says, "You two aren't getting paid to sit here and talk. There are patients out there that need to be seen!"  
  
"Yes ma'am." Carter says as he stands up. He tries to walk away but has a hard time hiding his limp.  
  
"Carter," Weaver's voice is softer now, and since I am still sitting on the couch I can barely hear her, "Are you okay?"  
  
"Yes, I am fine." Carter gives me a dirty look before he leaves the lounge.  
  
"What was all that about?" Weaver asks me.  
  
I was still watching the door close and didn't hear her. "Huh?"  
  
"Doug, if you need to tell me something, I think you should now. What's going on between you and Carter?"  
  
I almost tell her, but instead say, "It's just a little spat that we need to settle." And I smile at her as I stand up and leave the lounge. 


	11. Carter's Perspective

Chapter 11: August 12, 2000, 5:10PM, Exam Room 1 (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
**SHORT CHAPTER ALERT**  
  
Why does he keep bothering me about this? I'm only taking the medicine because I'm in pain, and it's masses of pain today. I should be able to take painkillers if I need them. Why do I keep saying that word, "need"? I mean I do need them, but only to take away the pain. I am not addicted. I'm not. Doug is out of his mind. What does he know about getting attacked anyway? He has never been in this kind of pain. He has no place to talk. He doesn't know what I am going through. I am doing the right thing. Yeah I started using morphine again, but only because it's the only thing that works. 


	12. Overdose

Chapter 12: August. 12, 2000, 11:08PM, Hallway (Doug Ross's Point of View):  
  
I give up. I need to tell Weaver or Mark as soon as I see them next. They need to know that one of their doctors has a drug addiction. Unfortunately both of them are gone until midnight and I am off at 11:30. So until then I guess I'll just find an empty room and work on charts. I walk into Exam Room 3 and sit down at the table. I hear a groan come from behind me. I jump up and spin around, thinking that it is a hurt patient, but in the back of my mind I am afraid that the same thing will happen to me like it happened to Carter: being attacked. But to my surprise, I see Carter lying in the fetal position on the floor. He has vomited all over himself and is shaking badly. I check his heart rate. It is weak, and his breathing is shallow. My God. His lips are tinted blue. He is having a morphine overdose. Sure enough there on the floor next to him sit the bottle and a syringe. I slip them into my lab coat.  
  
I run into the hall and shout out, "I need some help here!" Chuny, Malik, and Dave Malluchi come running.  
  
I go back to Carter and ask him, "How much did you take?"  
  
"I don't know," he spits out.  
  
"John, was it only morphine, or did you take more?"  
  
"My bag in my locker." and he trails off.  
  
The nurse and doctor are in the room with me and I quickly say to them, "Treat him for a morphine overdose."  
  
"Where are you going?" Chuny asks.  
  
I am almost out of the room but reply, "To see what else he took."  
  
Dave shouts, "Was it a suicide attempt?" But I don't answer. I am already running down the hall. In the lounge, luckily Carter's locker is unlocked. I open his bag. It's a Goddamn pharmacy. Okay, so I am exaggerating. But there are two kinds of antidepressants and three bottles of painkillers. And two of the latter aren't even prescribed to Carter.  
  
**Dun! Dun! DUN! What will happen now? Will Carter die? Will he finally admit to his drug addiction? Wait and see** 


	13. Where are all the doctors?

Chapter 13: August. 13, 2000, 12:02AM, Admit Desk (Mark Greene's Point of View):  
  
"Where are all of the doctors?" I ask Randi . "Luka is in the lounge, Dave just left, Kerry called and said she will be fifteen minutes late.um.and Doug and Carter are in Exam Room 3. Doug said he might need your help when you come in and to send you to the exam room."  
  
"I thought Carter was helping him. Who's the patient?" I am skimming through a couple of charts.  
  
"Carter."  
  
I nearly drop the papers I am looking at. "What happened?!"  
  
"You'll have to talk to Doug about that. I don't know all of the details."  
  
I am running down the hall and shout back, "Thanks Randi!" When I get to the exam room, Doug is just about to leave the room and I almost run into him. "What happened? Is Carter okay? Was it his back?" We are standing in the hall now and I can tell that I have bombarded Doug with questions.  
  
"Slow down. Carter is doing much better. And it was involving his back, but it's not anything like you think. I found him on the floor in there-"  
  
"What?" I need to find out if the young doctor is all right. I walk into the room. Carter is fighting with the nurse over his chart. Chuny is trying to get him back into bed, but Carter pulls out his IV and bandages his arm.  
  
"Carter!" I shout. I didn't mean to shout it, but I am starting to get angry.  
  
"What the hell is going on?" I ask, "Doug tells me that he found you in here of the floor. I need to know right now what is going on with you."  
  
Carter looks up at me and his face is coated in a shock to see me. It was like I had fired him. He was at a loss of words. 


	14. I guess I fainted

Chapter 14: August. 12, 2000, 11:54PM, Exam Room 3 (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
I wake up laying on the gurney. What's happened? My stomach is killing me and my head is spinning. I remember being in the exam room. I was giving myself another dosage of morphine. Was that it? Did I give myself too much? No, I took as much as I normally do. But I did take some extra pills. Damn it. I can't believe this is happening. Now Doug will really think that I have a problem. And now he will be forced to tell Weaver and Mark what he saw. I can't let him do that. I have to get rid of the chart first. Maybe I can convince him, as well, that I.I don't know what I can convince him. I am a doctor and know what can and can't be taken together. But why should I have to convince him of anything? The morphine was prescribed to me. Granted the doctor who prescribed it didn't know that I have Vicodin as well, but the bottle still has my name on it.  
  
"Welcome back, Carter," I hear Chuny say to me.  
  
"Yeah, hi. Listen," Okay now it's time for some smooth talking, "I think I am feeling a lot better. Thanks for your help." I stand up and take my chart. I start taking pages out of the clipboard.  
  
"Hey, hey!" Chuny says, "I know you are a doctor here, but you can't destroy your records!"  
  
I don't answer and I am already getting dressed before I realize that there is an IV in my arm. "Shit," I mutter and slowly pull out the needle.  
  
"Carter!" Chuny shouts at me. She is pissed at me now. "Get back in that bed and wait until Dr. Ross comes to release you!"  
  
"I am a doctor, and I am releasing myself!"  
  
"Carter!" It's Mark and Doug is standing behind him with his arms crossed. "What the hell is going on? Doug tells me that he found you in here of the floor. I need to know right now what is going on with you."  
  
I am stunned. I don't know what to say. But I need to say something before Doug tells him. I need to get out of the hospital. Finally the words of a coward come to me. "I guess I fainted. Doug must have found me. I don't remember all that much, but I am feeling better. But I think it is best if I go home and rest for a day or two."  
  
Now it's Doug's turn to talk. "I think it is best if you stay here for observation."  
  
"I agree," says Mark.  
  
"No, really, I am going to go home. Dr. Ross, can I speak with you in the lounge?" I walk out and hope that Doug is following me. He is.  
  
When we get to the lounge he shouts at me, "What the fuck do you think you are doing?!"  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You have a drug problem-"  
  
"I am extremely offended at all of this. You keep accusing me of drug abuse, but you have yet to prove any of it!" I am fuming now. He has no right to call me an addict. "Who do you think you are?!"  
  
"You know what, Carter," He steps closer to me, "Even if you aren't an addict, you still had an overdose. And you need to stay under hospital care for a little while longer."  
  
I wasn't listening anymore. "If you tell anyone of your theories, I .I."  
  
"You'll what? Quit? Sue me for emotional damage? There isn't anything you can do except get help or get high!"  
  
"Stop talking!" I slam my locker closed.  
  
"Fine, if you don't want my help, you can rot for all I care!" And that was the end of it. Doug left the lounge and I sit down on the sofa.  
  
"How can this be happening to me?" 


	15. But it's Carter

Chapter 15: August. 13, 2000, 1AM, Lounge (Kerry Weaver's Point of View):  
  
"Are you sure about this Doug?" I ask. Doug, Mark, and I are sitting around the table in the lounge. I can't believe what I am hearing. "These are some pretty serious accusations."  
  
"I believe him," Mark replies. "It makes so much sense, Kerry. I saw the scars on his wrist a long time ago, hence the psych consult. But they weren't scars at all. He called them spider bites. They were from the needles he was.is using."  
  
"But it's Carter. He would never abuse medicine," I am trying to convince myself more than the two other doctors.  
  
"This is why we didn't realize what was happening to him. Whenever a thought popped into one of our heads we brushed it off because it is Carter. We have to stop thinking like that, Kerry. He needs help and he won't get it for himself. It's up to us."  
  
I turn to Doug and ask, "You are sure of what you saw?"  
  
"I saw him inject the morphine into his wrist. I read the label so I know what it was. I was the one who found him after his morphine overdose. He didn't faint; it was an overdose, Kerry, an overdose. I tried helping him myself. I know I should have told both of you sooner, but I wanted to be sure I was right."  
  
"Okay," I rubbed my temples, but it didn't stop the pounding headache of reality, "I will talk to him-."  
  
"Do you think you should do that? It might make him feel cornered since you are administration," Mark replied.  
  
"What do you propose we do then? Doug already tried and it didn't work."  
  
"Let me try. He and I used to be close."  
  
"Fine. But whatever you do, do it today. I don't want to wait any longer." 


	16. Since April

Chapter 16: August. 13, 2000, 3AM, Exam 2 (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
I have to act normal. Just examine my patients and go on with the day. Doug is going to do something; I can feel it. The question now is, what is he going to do? I need to figure this out and think ahead of him. He could call the cops, but I doubt that he would do that. He is probably going to tell someone here at the hospital, but whom is he going to tell first? Would it be better to stop using the extra medicine and not risk another mistake or should I keep using it since it helps me feel better? Either way a drug test would come up positive, and they would expect that because I should be taking medicine. I'll keep taking it. If I look like I am in pain it would be worse.  
  
I finish up examining Mr. Kline and order the tests and meds needed. As I am about to leave the room, Mark comes in and says, "Dr. Carter may I speak with you for a few minutes?"  
  
So he told Mark. I reply, "I'm sorry Dr. Greene, but I am currently evaluating a patient."  
  
The patient had to open his big mouth and said, "But I thought you were done?"  
  
Mark sighed and said, "Come on John. It's important."  
  
So I follow him. He takes me outside, which is fine with me because now I can smoke. I light a cigarette and ask, "What's up?"  
  
"We're friends, right John?"  
  
"Yeah, sure." I wish I could tell what he is thinking so I can plan my answers.  
  
"So if you need help with something, you'd come to me, right?"  
  
"Yeah, if I need help with something."  
  
Mark sighs and sits down on a bench. I follow. He continues by saying, "Maybe you don't realize this John or maybe you are just too stubborn, but you need help."  
  
Now is when I should turn the conversation around, so to avoid all this drug talk I say, "I know you guys all think that I am going through depression, but I am getting better, I swear. I am seeing someone," which was true. I started seeing a shrink today just so the staff wouldn't worry. "And I am on anti-depressants. That's why my moods have been all over the place. Yeah, I noticed just like you that I have been really moody. But it is just me getting used to taking the medicine and the medicine getting used to me. Now, I have patients to see and so do you. But thanks for your concern." I stand up and start to walk away. Mark grabs my shoulder, but I just shrug it off as if I didn't feel it. He runs in front of me and blocks me from the door.  
  
"You know, Carter, you are pretty good at avoiding problems. But you know damn well that depression wasn't what I was talking about. Doug told me about the morphine and the pills and everything that you fill your body with to get high and come to work. You have a drug problem. Don't try and deny it anymore. I know that spiders haven't been biting your wrist. I was stupid to believe it. Kerry knows all about this too. We are willing to help you get cleaned up if you let us. We aren't going to force you, but I really hope that you take this option. It is your only choice if you want to stay here at County."  
  
"Are you firing me?!" I am angry now. I can feel my temperature rising. How dare they accuse me all of this and then threaten to fire me.  
  
"If you don't go to rehab, yes, you will be fired."  
  
"I do not have to put up with this abuse! Any number of hospitals would hire me! I am a good doctor!" I am screaming at the top of my lungs now and people are starting to look at us.  
  
"I never said you aren't. But we can't let you practice at any hospital while you are on drugs." Mark is still whispering. I think he is afraid to cause a scene.  
  
"You know, you embarrassed me pretty badly when you threw me onto the gurney. Not to mention that being tossed on there really hurt my back. But this really takes the cake. Do you think I would get addicted to drugs after what happened to Chase? I helped detox him, and now you think I would put myself through all of that?" I grit my teeth and continue, "I can't believe you." I turn and start walking away.  
  
As I light another cigarette, I hear Mark behind me shouting, "That was your only chance Carter!"  
  
"Good! I quit!" I shout back, over my shoulder. I walk across the street and go into Dr. Magoo's Diner. Sitting in a booth I order a cup of coffee and continue to smoke my cigarettes. I have a feeling I will be up to two packs a day again pretty soon. I must have been staring off into space because I suddenly hear someone talking to me. It is Kerry. Just great.  
  
I ask, "What was that?"  
  
"I asked if you mind if I sit here."  
  
"No, not at all," I reply.  
  
She slides herself onto the bench across from me and remarks, "How are you feeling today, John?"  
  
"I've had better days but I've had worse." I take a drag of my cigarette. Kerry was who found me after I was stabbed on Valentine's Day. She knows about my bad days.  
  
Kerry asks me, "When did you start smoking?"  
  
"Please tell me you aren't going to lecture me. Mark has given me enough lectures to last a lifetime."  
  
"No, no. I won't lecture you. I just don't remember you smoking while you lived with me and I never pictured you as a smoker."  
  
"I smoked in college and a little in med school. But I guess I started up again four months ago maybe. Maybe it's been a little longer."  
  
No one speaks for a few minutes. Kerry hesitates but finally says, "We both know that you have been having a rough few months, but you should really reconsider the offer we are making for you. You will be in rehab for a while, but once you are done there, we will be glad to have you back County."  
  
"I don't work at County anymore. I quit." I extinguish my cigarette and light a fresh one. When I am nervous I smoke a lot more than normal. Not even acknowledging what she is saying, I ask, "How many people has Doug been talking to about this?"  
  
"He just told Mark and me. And we told him not to tell anyone else without all of us present. I really hope you change your mind about leaving County. But if you don't we will still help you-."  
  
"I don't need any fucking help!" I shout this much louder than I wanted to. I can feel tears start to well up in my eyes and one slides down my cheek. I can't talk to her anymore without bursting into tears. Why are they all ambushing me like this? God, my back is throbbing again. I take out a bottle, careful to make sure that it is one of mine, and take the last pill. I put the bottle down on the table with the label facing Kerry and say, "You see, I am taking prescribed medication. Nothing to worry about." I put out the cigarette and stand up. "Now I am sorry to tell you this, but I am leaving County unless this whole issue is dropped. So I hope you have a nice life."  
  
"At least tell me how long you have been injecting drugs." Her eyes are desperate and I can't lie to her anymore.  
  
I hesitate before I respond, "Since April."  
  
"April?" she asks, but I am already rushing out of the restaurant and can barely hear Kerry shouting at me to come back. I can't believe I told her. There's no turning back now. 


	17. Swift Kick To Your Head

Chapter 17: August. 27, 2000, 11PM, Carter Mansion (Doug Ross' Point of View):  
  
No one has been able to find Carter since he left on the 13th. So now I am going to try. Mark and Kerry have been calling his apartment but there has been no answer. The landlord said that he moved out about a week ago. The only address he was given was one we already had, the address for the Carter Estate. Kerry and Mark have tried here already without any luck, but that was a week ago. Now it's my turn. I stand in front of Carter's house in awe. It is a mansion. I remember when he was younger all the doctors and nurses made fun of him for being so rich. But his money won't help him now.  
  
I ring the doorbell and within a minute a butler opens the door.  
  
"Can I help you, sir?" he asks me.  
  
"Yes, I'm here to see Dr. John Carter."  
  
"And you are?"  
  
"Dr. Doug Ross. I work with John."  
  
"Right this way, sir. He's in his office I believe." I follow the butler through a long, decorated hallway. "Just a moment, sir." He enters the room and closes the door.  
  
I put my ear to the door and try my hardest to listen.  
  
The butler is saying, "Dr. Carter. I'm sorry to interrupt, but there is a man here who wishes to speak with you; a Dr. Doug Ross, I believe."  
  
I couldn't hear anything for a minute. Finally Carter replies in a soft, raspy voice, "Send him in, Henry."  
  
I pull back from the door and wonder what I will see in there. No doubt Carter is heading towards rock bottom. I am almost afraid to see him falling apart.  
  
The butler opens the door and waves me into the office. I was afraid I would be shocked at Carter's appearance, but I am amazed. Sitting at a large wooden desk facing the door is a sharply dressed young man. He is wearing a black suit and gray dress shirt, with a perfectly tied tie and his hair slicked back. Granted his desk is a mess with papers and with a full ashtray and a half empty bottle of whiskey next to an empty glass, but the man himself looks remarkable. With his head down reading papers I can barely even tell if it is in fact Carter.  
  
I heard the door close behind me and I turn. The butler is gone.  
  
"Please sit, Dr. Ross." Yes it is Carter. He looks up at me as I sit.  
  
"You're looking good, Carter."  
  
"What did you expect to see?"  
  
"Honestly I don't know. But you are looking much better than at your apartment."  
  
He takes a drag from a cigarette and responds, "Thank you. I had a rough spot but as you can see I am right back on track." He starts reading some papers again.  
  
"Where have you been the past week?" I ask.  
  
"Here, mostly. Why?"  
  
"Because Kerry and Mark have been trying to reach you with no luck."  
  
"I was at a hotel for a couple of days before I came here."  
  
"Of course. You had to get cleaned up before your family saw you again, right?"  
  
Carter glances at me for a few seconds with a cold stare and then continues reading.  
  
I am silent for a moment before I continue, "What's that you've got there?"  
  
"It's paperwork for the Carter Foundation. I am heir to the family business, so I've decided to work with the rest of the Foundation on this until I take over."  
  
"So you've decided to give up being a doctor-"  
  
"Listen, Dr. Ross. I have much more important things to take care of than talking to you about this. So unless you have something more important to discuss, I'll have to ask you to leave my property."  
  
"Kerry said you admitted to the accusations; to the drug addiction."  
  
Carter's head shoots up and his eyes lock onto mine as he says, "I never admitted to any of that shit and you know it!" He is angry now. "Why won't you leave me alone?!" he shouts.  
  
"Because we care about you, Carter-"  
  
"No! That's not what I mean. I want to know why you, Dr. Ross, are so obsessed with pointing out any flaws that I might have?!"  
  
"So are you saying that your drug use is a flaw?"  
  
"Argh!" Carter screams as he pulls at his hair, "I told Kerry about injecting pain medication, but I am not a drug addict!"  
  
"Carter! How can you not see that you have a problem?" Now I am getting frustrated.  
  
"I don't have a problem except for you keeping me from my work-"  
  
I stand and lean forward on Carter's desk, looking down at him as I say, "So you don't think vein lining in the hospital washroom is a problem?"  
  
Carter doesn't speak. He has a fiery look in his eyes. But instead of getting mad, he finally replies, "This is not what I need right now."  
  
"You're right. What you need is a swift kick to your head."  
  
"Doug, I think it's time for you to leave," he calmly says. He starts to stand up but winces in pain and sits back down.  
  
"Carter, you're in pain. Let me take you to the hospital so you can have your back checked out." Actually what I want to say is, 'Because you will just shoot up again,' but I bite my tongue.  
  
He stands now and says, "Dr. Ross." It's eerie how calm his voice is. "Please leave my property."  
  
I had forgotten how tall the young man is. But, my god, he is so skinny. I can now see that his suit is hanging off of him.  
  
"Jesus, Carter," I say as I stand myself up straight, "You need to gain some weight. You are too damn thin." I get no response from him except an empty look in his eyes. I can't change his mind. And I can't think of anything more to say. So without another word, I leave Carter's office and I leave his mansion. 


	18. What's happening to you?

Chapter 18: August. 29, 2000, 9AM, Ambulance Bay (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
I can't go back in there. Maybe I can get someone to bring my things to my house. No. I have to go in myself..right after I finish my cigarette. I take a drag and wish that I won't have to talk to anyone in the ER.  
  
Oh, shit. I should have included the 'bay' in my wish. Peter Benton just exited the hospital and starts walking toward me. I light a fresh cigarette and begin walking away from the hospital. Maybe he didn't see me. Please, God, make me invisible. But from behind me I hear a shout.  
  
"Carter! Hey, Carter!"  
  
Fuck. Ok, time to face the sad, sad music. I turn around and take one last drag from my cigarette before I flick it away. "Hi Dr. Benton. How are you?" I start walking back to the hospital towards Peter, and I keep going.  
  
"Hey wait up, man," he says.  
  
"Sorry, sir, but I am in a hurry." I rush into the ER and towards the doctors' lounge with Peter at my feet the whole time. Too afraid to look up, I find the lounge blindly, and don't bother stopping when I hear my name. Finally I reach the lounge and find it empty, thank God. Well, empty except for Dr. Benton. I try to ignore him by fumbling with my combination, but Peter interrupts my clumsy fingers.  
  
"They changed your combination when you quit. Actually I was kinda surprised that you didn't come to me and tell me you were leaving. And no one here knew anything about it.  
  
I climb on a chair and start looking through the boxes on the lockers. "So where's all my stuff?"  
  
"Try over to your right." I grab the box. I read 'Carter' on the top and climb off the chair as Benton continues, "I even tried to get it out of Weaver but she-"  
  
"You talked to Kerry about me?" I harshly question, regretting the tone immediately.  
  
"Yeah." He looks suspicious now, "But she wouldn't tell me what's going on."  
  
I put the box on the sofa and look through it to make sure everything's there. It is.  
  
Finally Benton breaks the silence, asking, "What's happening to you? Is everything okay?"  
  
I look up, "Yeah, everything's great."  
  
"Come on, Carter, you look like a skeleton-"  
  
"I've always looked like a skeleton. You know that."  
  
He just glared at me, not accepting my explanation. So I continue, "Fine, you want to know what's going on?" I think fast for a workable lie.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"My grandfather has been ill for a while so I was helping take care of him and his Carter Foundation responsibilities when I wasn't working here. And about a week ago Kerry mentioned that the hospital is in another budget crisis. So since my family doesn't need me to work, I quit to help my grandfather and Kerry. And as for my appearance, I know I haven't been looking my best, but I have a lot to take care of that's more important. When I'm busy I'm just not hungry, and now you have made me late for an appointment," I rattle off as I pick up my box and hurry to the door.  
  
Behind me I barely hear Benton respond, "I hope to see you around again, John." And I stop. Him saying 'John' always touches me.  
  
I turn and respond, "I hope so too, Dr. Benton." Out of the lounge I hear Kerry shout my name.  
  
"Carter! John, wait! Carter, come back here!"  
  
"Sorry, Kerry. I'm in a rush. See ya!" And I dart out the ambulance bay and into my Jeep. 


	19. He lied to you

Chapter 19: August. 29, 2000, 9AM, Ambulance Bay (Peter Benton's Point of View):  
  
"I hope I see you around again, John," I shout as he starts to run out the door. I almost choke as I say his name; it is so unfamiliar to me.  
  
He looks back at me and looks like a lost boy as he says, "I hope so too, Dr. Benton," and I can see tears starting to form in his eyes, which he seems oblivious to. Damn, that kid always gets to me, him being so formal and innocent all the time.  
  
Suddenly Kerry Weaver bursts through the lounge door. I try to sneak out but she stops me.  
  
"Peter, did you talk to Carter at all?" she demands.  
  
I know I have a reputation for being tough, but even I think she's overstressing everyone. And now she's bitching out Carter, probably, with his sick grandfather!  
  
"Yeah," I respond, "And he told me everything-"  
  
"He told you what's been going on?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"I can't believe he would do that!"  
  
"Well, it's his life. I think he can inform who he wants." Why is she so worked up?  
  
"Did you at least try to talk to him? Did you try and help him somehow?" She's staring straight up at me now.  
  
I shake my head and respond, "There wasn't much for me to do. Plus I think he's getting back together now. He seems to be fine, you know, holding up considering."  
  
"Holding up considering? How can you be so passive about all of this?"  
  
"What do you expect me to, Kerry. I just hope his grandfather makes it."  
  
"What? What are you talking about?"  
  
"His sick grandfather. That's why he quit, right?"  
  
"Oh, Peter." She shakes her head. "He lied to you.John is a drug addict."  
  
Now I'm mad. 


	20. I should have died!

Chapter 20: August. 29, 2000, 1PM, Ambulance Bay (Peter Benton's Point of View):  
  
** Have fun with this one, everyone. I think you will all like it. Might  
be a day or two for the next chapter 'cause I am moving into my dorm  
tomorrow. Reviews are welcome! Enjoy! **  
  
It's been a couple hours since Kerry told me about Carter. I don't want to believe her, but it makes more sense than anything else. Sick grandfather. I can't believe he would lie about that. But I really can't believe that I fell for it. Carter has always been a really awful liar, but obviously he's been practicing.  
  
Kerry wouldn't tell me too much since she doesn't have the right to. I admire her for understanding how dangerous this would be once spread to people like Anspaugh or Romano, but I also wish she had told me about it much earlier. No. I wish Carter had come to me for help. But he's a stubborn man, never showing weakness.  
  
All I know is that he admitted to using drugs, but I don't know how long or what drugs. And he quit his job in the ER because he refused to go to rehab and he wouldn't let them fire him. Kerry also said that he is living with his grandparents again and she strongly hinted that I should pay him a visit. So since I just got off my shift, that's where I am going now. It's funny.I am very nervous to see him, and since Kerry told me the truth, I have had a pit in the bottom of my stomach and I feel like something is terribly wrong.  
  
Doug Ross gives me directions (and I am not too happy that he's known about this too) and I drive over to the Carter residence. After ringing the doorbell it takes a couple minutes for a butler to answer the door.  
  
He looks flustered as he asks, "May I help you, sir?"  
  
"I'm here to see Dr. Carter."  
  
"I'm sorry but he is not able to entertain guests at the moment."  
  
"Well, this is very important. Is he home?"  
  
"He is home, sir, but as I said, he cannot entertain-"  
  
"Guests," I finish, "Yeah, I got that, but what do you mean?"  
  
"He is not well, sir." The butler glances over his shoulder. I try to look but I can't see anything.  
  
"He was fine a few hours ago. What's wrong with him?"  
  
"I'm not sure, sir."  
  
"Well, I am a doctor at County with Carter. I can take a look at him-" But I stop when I hear a loud crash come from deep inside the house, followed by what sounds like Carter shouting. I push past the butler and barely hear him protest. I weave through the labyrinth of the house but stop when I see him. He is dressed as he was earlier although now his shirt is untucked and his tie is at his feet. Luckily his back is to me but I can see his grandmother about ten feet in front of him. She looks as dignified as ever even with her grandson shouting at her.  
  
Then I see it. There are the remains of a glass vase next to Carter-that must have been the crash-and he is holding one of the shards of glass in his right hand. But what disturbs me is the blood dripping from the point of the glass. There is some smeared blood on the back of his neck, as if he rubbed it there. And his left hand as a little blood on it, but not a lot. I wish I knew where it was coming from but I don't want to intervene just yet. I listen to what he is shouting.  
  
"-Gamma! You want to know what has happened to me?! I WAS STABBED IN THE BACK!" and he takes the shard and stabs himself in his back. I want to jump forward and stop him, but I can't move. Luckily he only creates a couple flesh wounds-almost no blood stains his shirt.  
  
"And then," he continues, "After I survived, I was in so much pain. Some days-most days-I wished I had died! But I couldn't do anything except take medicine!" He rips off his shirt and shoves out his left arm. I can't see what's on his arm but now I can see the scars from when he was attacked. For an instant I wonder if he is right, if we should have let him die. He's been through so much pain and suffering, after all. But I shake that thought out of my head, feeling like Dr. Kavorkian. Carter continues, "I am a fucking drug addict! I'm no better than Chase! Why did you let them save me! I should have died!"  
  
Carter's grandmother had said nothing but now she glances up at me, which triggers Carter to spin and face me. I can see his ribs showing through his skin and the large scar on his abdomen where we had to operate. I did that. I cut this young man open and now the thought hits me again. I could have saved him from all this pain and heartache if I had accepted that it was his time to die. No, stop thinking like that! That time has past, but I need to save him now.  
  
Finally I can see where the blood is coming from, and it shocks me. There is a large gash on his forehead and although it doesn't appear to be too deep, blood is dripping down into his eyes and the wound will need to be sutured. I don't know how he was cut there and I don't dare ask. In fact, Cater is the first to talk between us.  
  
"You," he says in a soft, deep voice. "You saved me. But by saving me, you've cursed me."  
  
"Carter, you're out of your mind, man. We couldn't just let you die-"  
  
"No! You're wrong!" He's pacing back and forth. He had dropped the glass and now his hands are clutching his head. "That would have been the decent thing to do." And I faintly hear him mumble, "But now I have to get the job done," just before he sprints down the hall past his grandmother. I dart after him but he has already run into a room and locked the door.  
  
I hear crying coming from behind me and turn to see Millicent Carter. She says, "I told him not to work at that damn hospital. I begged him to quit after he was attacked."  
  
I interject, "What is this room?"  
  
"Oh, um, his office-" she starts as I hear another crash in this room. God only knows what he's doing and what medical supplies he has in there. Without thinking, I slam my body into the door again and again until it finally swings inward. I stumble in just in time to see a look of desperation in Carter's eyes as he falls into a pool of his own blood. 


	21. Things have changed haven’t they?

Chapter 21: August. 29, 2000, 2PM, Admit Desk (Mark Greene's Point of View):  
  
Things have been going slow today, thank God. I've been on for ten hours and we only have had one trauma.  
  
"Trauma coming in!" Randi shouts.  
  
I spoke too soon; "When?" I ask.  
  
"Now-" and the doors burst open with paramedics pushing a gurney.  
  
One of them starts announcing, "Thirty year old male, vertical lacerations on each wrist, head lac, small back lacs, and possible morphine overdose."  
  
I finally look down and see that underneath all the blood, there lies Carter.  
  
"My God! Carter!" I shout.  
  
"You know him?" asks the paramedic.  
  
"He's one of your doctors. What happened to him?"  
  
"It's obviously suicide, doc-"  
  
No, I mean how'd it happen?"  
  
"Don't know; ask the guy that came in with us."  
  
I look over my shoulder and see Peter still standing by the door, staring at Carter's gurney rolling away, with me by its side.  
  
"Peter!" I shout, but he doesn't move. I see Jing Mei round a corner and shout, "Dr. Chen, take this," and I run over to Peter. In the background I hear Jing Mei say, "Oh shit! It's Carter!" but I am already coming up to Peter. Closer now, I can see that his clothes are drenched in blood and his hands and part of his face are coated too.  
  
Before I speak, I can barely hear Peter mumble, "I should go help," and he takes a step forward.  
  
Of course I stop him. He is in a mental shock. This is the second time his former student has been a trauma victim. And not just any student, it's Carter, a man who is like a little brother to Peter.  
  
"No, Peter," my hands are on his shoulders. He still hasn't looked at me, he just keeps staring at the trauma room where Carter is being worked on. I continue, "Are you hurt at all?"  
  
"No.He doesn't want this."  
  
"What?"  
  
"He doesn't want to be saved. He wants to die."  
  
Ok, now I am worrying about Peter. I have never heard him talk like this.  
  
He continues, "But I couldn't let him die. I did all I could."  
  
"Peter you did your part. Now let me help you get cleaned up an I'll have someone drive you home."  
  
"No, I need to help." He walks forward, even though I try to hold him back, and he pushes past me and walks to the trauma room. He puts on scrubs, not that his clothes matter anymore, and turns to go in. I am on his heal again.  
  
I say, "I don't think this is a good idea."  
  
But he seems coherent again. He looks me in the eyes and plainly says, "I have to save him." He goes in and I follow.  
  
Carter has lost a lot of blood. He has almost no blood pressure and needed to be intubated. Chen has done a good job so far, but now I step in with Peter. The tox screen comes back positive for morphine and we give the appropriate drugs to counter the reaction. After what seems like hours, we finally are able to stabilize Carter. He'll survive once again.  
  
I congratulate Peter (he did an amazing job) but he doesn't even smile. He just looks at me and says, "We didn't save him today or 6 months ago. We've just delayed his death until he tries again." And he walks away.  
  
* * *  
  
How did we let it get this far? I blame myself. I could have helped him, but I gave up to easily. And that's exactly what he did too: gave up on himself too easily. I never thought this would happen, though. Yeah, I knew about the drugs, but drugs and suicide are two completely different steps in life. I know I accused him of being suicidal before, but I never really believed that myself. I always thought that he loved his life. I mean, after all, he's Carter, happy-go-lucky, clumsy, young Carter. Things have changed haven't they?  
  
It's been two days since he was brought to the ER. I was finally able to get a story from the police. Millicent Carter walked in on John while he was taking a handful of pills. She questioned what was going on and that's when the argument started. After locking himself in his office, Carter injected himself with a lethal dose of morphine he had in his desk. Then he punched out a window, took a shard of glass, and slit his wrists. That's when Peter broke down the door. At least this is what the police have pieced together from what Millicent Carter told them. They tried to talk to Peter, but he refused to give any input.  
  
Two days and no change. After all the work we did to save him, now Carter just lays in a coma, with machines keeping him alive. He'll come out of it soon, I know he will.I hope he will. We can't lose him, yet somehow we already did. I blame myself.  
  
But what makes the whole situation even more depressing is that Carter hasn't had any visitors, not his parents, not his grandparents, not even any friends.well unless you count Peter. Since he first brought Carter in, Peter has refused to leave his side. Like I said, it's been two days without any improvement. I am almost as worried about Peter as I am about Carter. He hasn't slept at all and he's barely eaten anything. Whenever I (or anyone for that matter) try to talk to him, his response is always, "Not now," and that's the end of it. DeRaad came down to speak with him because he went through a traumatic experience, but DeRaad claims that he is fine.that he just needs time with Carter.  
  
Now I stand outside Carter's hospital room and watch them through the window. Carter looks so peaceful lying on the bed. If it weren't for the ventilator and heart monitor, I would think that he was napping during one of his shifts. And then there's Peter. He sits on a chair next to the bed, with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his clasped hands. I have been watching him, waiting for him (well, either of them) to move, but so far it's been like watching statues. I look at my watch. It's been thirty-five minutes since my shift ended and thirty-five minutes since I came up here.  
  
Behind me I hear Kerry's crutch and her voice says, "How's he doing?"  
  
I glance at here and respond, "Which one?" sarcastically.  
  
"Yeah. Just, Mark, try not to suck yourself into this."  
  
"When Carter wakes up Peter will snap out of it, I think. He hasn't talked to me since after the operation. I'm pretty sure he blames me. Honestly, I blame myself too-"  
  
"Don't do this to yourself, Mark. You did what you could, but Carter had to.has to take responsibility for his own life. And Peter knows that. A part of him probably blames himself for not getting to John's house sooner. But it's no one's fault except Carter's. He rejected our help. He did this to himself."  
  
We watch the men in silence for a few minutes before I continue, "He knew what he was doing, Kerry. It's obvious that this wasn't an accident. And if he wanted to end his life-"  
  
"Don't say it, Mark-"  
  
"-Isn't it his choice?" I can't believe those words came out of my mouth. I hear Kerry make a long sigh.  
  
She says, "Would you want to die if you were him?"  
  
This shocks me and I have to digest the question for a moment. "Honestly, yes, if I was suffering as much as he was."  
  
"You are stronger than me for being that honest. Because I know that if I was as lost as he is, I wouldn't be in a proper mental condition to understand that there are other options than suicide. And in the end I think I would be grateful for being saved and knowing people who are willing to help me get through this."  
  
"Yeah, I guess that's true." I just stand there and think about all of this until my thoughts are disturbed by someone calling my name.  
  
"Dr. Greene! Dr. Green!" It's Dave Malluchi.  
  
"My shift ended forty minutes ago, Dave."  
  
"I know, I know." He's standing next to me and panting, "I ran up here to tell you that Dr. Romano is on his way up. I think he's looking for Dr. Benton, and he seems mad."  
  
I mumble, "Shit, not Romano." I turn away from the window and see Robert stepping out of the elevator and walking our way.  
  
"Robert," I try and stop him but he brushes past me.  
  
"Not now, Greene. I'm pissed enough at you," and he slams into the hospital room. I follow as Romano continues, now to Peter, "Who the blazes made you this drug-store cowboy's babysitter, Peter?" But Peter does not move, he just watches Carter. "Peter! I'm talking to you! You are a surgeon not a nanny. Look at me when I'm talking to you." Still nothing. But now I take Robert by the arm and force him out of the room to where Kerry and Dave are still standing.  
  
"Dave," I say, "Give us some privacy." Surprisingly Dave doesn't argue, but instead just nods his head and walks away.  
  
Kerry starts, "Robert, you need to be more sensitive about this-"  
  
"The fuck I do! Peter has missed two shifts and he's not answering his pager. He's lucky I've given him this much time."  
  
I am starting to get angry but in a calm voice I say, "He hasn't moved in two days, Robert-"  
  
"Of course not; he's in a coma. You'll be lucky if he wakes up again-"  
  
"No, I'm talking about Peter. This incident hit him hard. He was there when Carter attempted suicide. Even if Peter were functioning, he wouldn't be fit to do surgery. He's mentally distant right now." I try to reinforce this point, "Carter was his favorite student."  
  
Romano seems to think about this while we all stare into the room. Finally he says, "Fine. I'll give him to the end of this week. That's four days. And if he isn't fit to work or talk about all this, I'm having him sent up to psych." And he walks away.  
  
'Sadly,' I think, 'that was Robert trying to be nice. He just doesn't want people to see it. He's worried too.'  
  
And as we continue to watch the men, I hear Kerry sigh again. I can't tell if it's a sigh of relief from Robert or sadness about Carter. I think it's the latter.  
  
It wasn't five minutes later when I see Peter jump from his chair and come at us.  
  
He slams through the door and says, "He's waking up." Kerry and I clamber in just in time to see Carter's eyelids flutter open. He tries to speak so Kerry pulls the ventilator out of his throat, but what he says stuns even me. 


	22. Let me go home!

Chapter 22: August. 31, 2000, 4PM, Hospital Room (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
Everything is dark, but I am okay with that. I wonder if this is death. No, wait, my eyes are just closed. I try to open them, but it takes some effort. Finally I can see through little slits. A hospital room. Now I know I am in hell. No, hell would mean I am working the room. I can see figures and as they come into focus I can see they are Kerry, Mark, and Peter. What's going on? Then it hits me. I try to talk, but am choked by the ventilator tube.  
  
I hear Kerry say something and assume that she says, "Okay, on three; one, two, three, blow," and I obey.  
  
I hear my voice cough and then, in a raspy tone, I say, "Where's Lucy?"  
  
Everyone stops and it almost feels like time has ceased. Finally I hear my voice croak out, "She's dead, isn't she?"  
  
The only response I get is Kerry's weak voice saying, "Oh, John," and then time stops again. I have to know what's going on.  
  
"I can't believe this happened to her and not to me," I continue. Hot tears are dripping down my face as I ask, "Where is she? I want to see her body." I start to sit up, but Mark puts his hand on my shoulder and I lay back down.  
  
He says, "Carter, it's been more than half a year since Lucy died-"  
  
"I've been out that long?" I'm confused now.  
  
"No," Mark sighs, "You don't have any idea why you are here today?" I slowly shake my head. Mark continues, "Peter brought you in from your grandmother's house. You were upset about something and you-"  
  
It all comes back to me. I stop him, "I know. I remember now." I sigh. "You all must have thought I was crazy talking about Lucy."  
  
"No, not crazy," Kerry says, "Just confused, out of place."  
  
"Well," I say, thinking of a way out of the hospital, "thank you for all of your help, but I think I am much better now." I start to pull out my IV but Peter grabs my hand.  
  
"Hey, man, what are you thinking? You can't leave."  
  
"Like hell I can't," and I try to get out of his grip but suddenly Mark and Kerry are holding me down too.  
  
I hear Mark shout over his shoulder, "We need some restraints in here!"  
  
"No! Stop!" I shout. I feel like I am in the twilight zone. All I want is to go home. "Let me go home!"  
  
"We can't do that, John," Mark replies and then I feel the pinch of a needle and everything goes dark. 


	23. Inside I am already dead

Chapter 23: August. 31, 2000, 5PM, Hospital Room (John Carter's Point of View):  
  
** Well, I have bad news everyone. This will be the last chapter I put up for a while. I am starting school and work this week so I won't have much time to write new stuff. I will aim for next Sunday, but no promises. You are all going to hate me at how I leave this chapter, but, ha ha, sucks to be you. So here is it. Have fun. It's a long chapter. **  
  
My head is throbbing. My body aches. At first I think that I have been in a fight. When I open my eyes, I see that I am in a hospital room, laying flat on a gurney. I try to sit up but restraints on my wrists and ankles detain me from this. It all comes back to me: the drugs, the fight with Gamma, and then in the locked room when I.  
  
I hear a woman's voice and I am startled. She says, "Hello again, John." I must have flinched because she continues, "I'm sorry; I didn't mean to startle you."  
  
"You didn't," I lie. I try to raise my head to see whom I am speaking to, but I am unsuccessful. "Where am I?" I ask.  
  
The woman steps forward and I see that it is Dr. Montgomery, the same doctor that I was sent to before. Well, that answers my question and I say, "I'm in the psych ward again," in an annoyed, dull voice. "Why am I here?"  
  
"Do you remember what happened to you today, John?"  
  
"Yes, unfortunately, I remember all of it. Can you take these restraints off?"  
  
"No, I can't do that."  
  
"I don't belong here."  
  
"John. I'm not going to play games with you. How long have you been using drugs?"  
  
I sigh. Why can't these people leave me alone? "They have been prescribed to me since I was attacked."  
  
"Ok," she seems frustrated about something, "Let me rephrase the question; how long have you been misusing your medication?"  
  
"I wasn't misusing them. I only took what I needed."  
  
"John, you said you remembered what happened today." I can barely see that she has my chart in her hands.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"You overdosed today. And I was informed that you overdosed before as well. This wasn't the first time, was it?"  
  
"It wasn't supposed to happen like that before," I reply, "I just needed my back to stop hurting." I feel like a little kid whining to a teacher.  
  
"What about today?" she asks, "Was the morphine from today meant to help your back? And what happened to your wrists?"  
  
I close my eyes. I can't look Dr. Montgomery in her eyes as I say, "Accidents, they were both accidents." I am lying of course, and I know that she knows this. I just can't bear to speak the truth. But I do hear her sigh.  
  
She continues, "Trust is very important to me, John. Hell, I think it's important for every relationship. But right now I don't feel like I can trust you."  
  
Her statement shocks me slightly. I slowly open my eyes and look at her as I say, "You can always trust me."  
  
She shakes her head and responds, "I can only trust you if you stop lying to me." I must have had a puzzled look on my face because she continues, "When I first met you, you told me that you weren't suicidal."  
  
"Because I wasn't," I quickly retort.  
  
"But you are now?" I don't answer but she continues, "Also when we first met you told me that if you needed to talk, you would come to me. Because of the state you came in today, I felt that you hadn't gotten help from anyone. John, people are meant to help each other. Why didn't you talk to anyone?"  
  
I don't know how to answer her question so I don't say a word. I just lie on my gurney with my wrists and ankles bound like a prisoner.  
  
"John?" she asks, but I still keep my silence. She continues, "Dr. Carter, you know that you don't have to answer my questions, but your silence won't get you out of here any faster."  
  
I close my eyes and hear the doctor sigh. As she starts to walk away, I decide that I have to tell her - someone - the truth. "I was scared," I say. "I was scared and I still am scared." My voice is weak and shaking. I don't want to cry in front of Dr. Montgomery, but I feel the hot tears on my face. I don't know if I am more upset about breaking down in front of this woman or that my hands are tied, preventing my from wiping the tears away.  
  
Dr. Montgomery sits down next to the bed and asks, "Why are you scared? What are you scared of? Dying?"  
  
"No, I want to die," damn I didn't want to say that. Now I have to fix it. "I never have been afraid of death since my brother died. Everyone I have gotten close to has died."  
  
"Then what are you afraid of, John?"  
  
I must have taken too long to organize my thoughts because the doctor adds, "John, I want to help you, but I can't do anything unless you talk to me-"  
  
"Failing," I finally croak out. "My entire life I have been a failure."  
  
"Don't you think you are being too hard on yourself? Nobody thinks you have failed.  
  
"I failed my family. I was supposed to be heir to the business, not a doctor. Now I can't be either because of today. And I failed my coworkers. And Lucy." No I don't want to go into that.  
  
"You didn't fail your coworkers. You can't keep blaming yourself for Lucy's death. Eventually you will understand that there was nothing anyone could do. And as for your family, would you have been happy as the head of the business?"  
  
I want to tell her that that's not the point. But I can't. I know I wouldn't have been happy working for the foundation.  
  
She continues, "I want you to think about this topic of failure, and we can come back to it later." She pauses, "Do you regret trying to end your life today?"  
  
I don't want to talk about this right now, or honestly, ever, so I respond, "I told you that was an accident." I look away from Dr. Montgomery as I say this, not able to look her in the face.  
  
"Dr. Carter, John." she clears her throat and continues, "I think we both know that it wasn't an accident.  
  
I was waiting for her to say that. Now maybe if I play my cards tight, I can get out of here quicker. I squeeze my eyes as tightly as possible and gently shake my head. I feel tears again, but this time they are forced. I barely make out a whisper, "I can't."  
  
I feel Dr. Montgomery's hand gently touch my arm and her soothing voice says, "It's okay, John. You can tell me."  
  
I take a deep breath and sigh, "Yes, I regret doing it," damn I should have been an actor. "I regret taking the pills. I regret taking the morphine. I regret slitting my wrists. But most of all I regret shouting at Gamma and shouting at-" I stop.  
  
I see Dr. Montgomery scrunch her brow as she says, "John, what is it?"  
  
I finish my thought and mumble to myself, "Dr. Benton." I must have been staring into space because Dr. Montgomery asks, "John, are you okay?"  
  
I snap out of it and respond, "Yeah. I.just realized that my actions will affect a lot of people."  
  
"Yeah they will. But you have to remember that every action, good or bad, big or small, affects everyone we love."  
  
"Right," I say. I didn't even really hear her. I am too busy worrying about something else. Finally I ask her, "Dr. Montgomery, is it okay for me to have visitors?"  
  
"I suppose you can have a couple, but only one at a time. Your grandmother has been waiting to talk to you. She said that your parents couldn't make it-"  
  
"Of course not," I sarcastically mutter.  
  
"But your grandmother said they will be home to visit you by next week-"  
  
"Just like last time."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Last time.after I was stabbed, they didn't come home until after I was out of the hospital."  
  
Silence. So I continue, "I'm going to be out of the hospital by then, right?" I can hear the desperation in my own voice.  
  
"John, you must be exhausted. Maybe you should get some sleep-"  
  
"No!" I shout much louder than I wanted to, "Please doctor, answer my question."  
  
"Well, I'm not sure what's going to happen. But if you are out of County, you will be sent to a facility-"  
  
"Whoa! Whoa! What do you mean?"  
  
"We can't just let you out after this. This is a serious ordeal. You are a danger to yourself-"  
  
I can feel my heartbeat speed up as I start to panic. "But I'm not! I told you it was a mistake-"  
  
"I'm sorry, John. Don't get upset right now. We can discuss this later." She pauses and I don't know how to respond. Finally she continues, "You need to calm down or I can't let you have visitors. Would you like to see your grandmother now?"  
  
The last thing I need is Gamma yelling at me. I have someone else in mind anyway. "Um.do you know if Dr. Benton is available?"  
  
"Actually he's been waiting outside."  
  
I'm confused, "For how long?"  
  
"Since I came in before you woke up. He's been with you since he brought you in."  
  
I feel so guilty to have taken up so much of Dr. Benton's life. I swallow and respond, "Can I talk to him alone?"  
  
"Sure," Dr. Montgomery leaves the room and a few seconds later I hear the door open again. I can't tell if anyone is in the room because of the damn restraints. I unsuccessfully try to lift my head as I say, "Dr. Benton, are you there?"  
  
"Yeah, Carter, I'm here." He steps forward and I can finally see him. Something everyone knows about Dr. Benton is that he only shows two emotions: frustration and anger. No, that's not true. I know differently. When I woke up after I was stabbed.when he told me that Lucy had died, he was a flood of emotions. Others may not have noticed, but I could see it in his eyes; the concern, the sympathy, the happiness that I was okay, and the rage that we had been hurt. Now I see the same flood of emotions on his face. But now his eyes are laced with disappointment. I have disappointed Dr. Benton, my mentor, and I feel myself crumbling under his stare.  
  
I don't know how to start the conversation so I ask, "Um, Dr. Benton, can you take these restraints off, please?"  
  
"I don't know if I can do that, Carter."  
  
"It's not like I am going to try to escape. And even if I did try, you'd tackle me in an instant. I try my hardest to give him innocent puppy dog eyes.  
  
He sighs and says, "Fine." He walks around the bed unbuckling the restraints. I sit up at the head of the hospital bed. Ah, how good it feels to be free again. Ok, so I'm not free, but I'm one step closer. I can tell that Dr. Benton is getting ready to lecture me so before he can speak I say, "I don't belong here."  
  
I must have caught him off guard because he gives me a strange look and only responds, "What?"  
  
I continue, "People like me don't belong here. Paul Sobriki belongs here, but not me. Dr. Benton, I want you to know that I'm not crazy."  
  
Dr. Benton puts on a crooked smile and says, "Carter, man, I know you are not. Nobody said you're crazy."  
  
"But I can tell you're all thinking it."  
  
"Carter-" He shifts his weight uncomfortably.  
  
"Hear me out for a minute. I'll admit that I made a mistake at my house," a lie, "and I'm sorry that you and Gamma had to go through all that," that's close enough to the truth, "I'll even admit that I went too far with my pain medication. But I understand the mistakes I made and that what I did was wrong. I don't know what my future holds from here on, but I want to get better. Help me, please."  
  
Benton just straightens up on the bedside chair and sighs. Finally he says, "No."  
  
I am stunned and stutter out, "Wh-What?"  
  
"Everything you have just said was lies. Except about the drugs. And that was more than 'too far.' But all you want is to get out. You have no intention of getting better. Hell, if we let you out, you'll probably just do it all over again." He glances around the room for a few seconds then snaps at me, "What the fuck happened to you, Carter?!" I jump when he said that, but I continue staring him straight in his eyes while he continues, "I remember when you were a timid, clumsy, little med-student. And now look at you."  
  
"Things change."  
  
"Did they have to change like this? I don't want to be angry at you, but I don't know how else I should feel."  
  
I have been trying to make eye contact so far, but now I have to look away. My heart aches as Dr. Benton opens up to me. I have been lectured a lot recently, and I heard all of this shit they were telling me, but this is the first time that I have bothered myself to listen.  
  
I am sitting on the bed with my knees up to my chin and my arms around my legs. I feel like a little kid again. But this time I take in every word that is being said to me.  
  
".You have spent so much time and energy to get to where you are and now what? I can't even think straight anymore, Carter. I have been here for you for over two days-"  
  
Now it is my turn to snap, "Nobody ever asked you to do that!"  
  
"If I don't do it then who will?"  
  
"Nobody ever asked you to be my fucking hero! No one asked you to save me. You're right, as soon as I can, I will just shoot up and kill myself!" And time suddenly stands still. I can't believe those words passed through my lips. I know I had said things like that before, but now I feel the impact in my chest; the same impact that I imagine Dr. Benton felt at my house. My life is over, or at least the life that I once knew.  
  
"John," my name sends shivers down my spine as he says it. "I don't think I can help you anymore. If you want to die, I won't be there to stop you next time." I can feel tears running down my face as he continues, "I want you to survive this. But what I want more than anything is to go back in time and be there to prevent any of this from happening."  
  
We sit in silence as I sort things out in my head. What gave me this harsh realization all of a sudden? I have ruined my life. I am no better than some of the patients I see in the ER. I am a drug addict. I am suicidal. Inside I am already dead.  
  
** So what do ya'll think? Reviews are very welcome. More will come, just give me a while ** 


	24. I can do more for himPeter's crisis

I'm back baby! This chapter doesn't have much to do with Carter, but it's getting my mind working again. Hope you like it! More to come ASAP.  
  
**Chapter 24: August. 31, 2000, 5PM, Hospital Room (Robert Romano's Point of View):**  
  
I'm sick of this horseshit. Benton has to get his head on straight and stop worrying about that drugged up Doctor Carter. I am watching them from outside the hospital room. For a while they were arguing but now they are silent and just staring at each other. Enter Rocket.  
  
I storm in and shout, "What the hell is wrong with you, Peter? I said that I wanted you back in surgery!" He doesn't move. "Dr. Benton—!"  
  
The drug addict speaks, "Dr. Benton, I can't talk like this." His voice shakes as her whispers this.  
  
"Pipe down, Carter—" I start to say but Peter interrupts, still facing away from me.  
  
"Don't speak to him like that. Please leave Dr. Romano."  
  
"Not unless you're following right behind me. I gave you plenty of time to deal with this situation. And it seems to me that Dr. Carter is out of the woods. . . physically at least."  
  
Carter is whining again, "Dr. Benton, please . . ."  
  
I sigh and rub my eyes. I need to get him out of the room somehow. I guess I could be nice to him. "Peter," I say calmly, "Let's just step outside so we can talk and let Dr. Carter rest for a few minutes." I wait.  
  
After a minute or two, Peter finally looks away from Carter and looks at me. But strangely I don't think he's looking at me, but instead, straight past my head . . . as if I'm not even there.  
  
"Okay," he says. To Carter he says, "I'll be right outside if you need anything, okay man?" Carter just nods in response and somehow seems to squeeze himself in the fetal position even tighter than he already is.  
  
I lead the other surgeon out to the hallway. As I gather my thoughts I notice that Benton is watching Carter through the door's window. I never realized just how close these two are.  
  
"Peter," I get his attention and he looks away from the window. I am surprised that he keeps his eyes on me as I speak, "John is a very sick man. And I understand that you two are friends, but we really need you in surgery. You can't do anything more to help him except get him professional help. And you need to ger some sleep—"  
  
"I can do more for him—"  
  
"Like what!?" I am not yelling at him in anger. I merely want him to see that here is nothing left for him to do. He needs sleep. He isn't thinking straight.  
  
"He confessed to me." Benton speaks these words quietly but his next sentence is said even quieter. "He admitted that he doesn't want to live. He admitted to drugs. He won't talk to anyone else, just me. I'm the only person who can help him right now. Let me do that for him."  
  
Suddenly I see Peter sway and he has to steady himself against the wall.  
  
"Peter! Are you alright?" I rush next to him.  
  
"Yeah, yeah. I'm fine." But he was already sliding to the floor.  
  
"Peter! Peter!" I shout down the hall, "I need a gurney!" A couple of nurses come running with a gurney. We pull Peter off the floor and lay him down.  
  
Behind me I hear someone ask, "What happened to him?" It's Carter.  
  
"Get back in your room please," I say as calmly as I can.  
  
"No, I want to know what happened to Dr. Benton."  
  
"Nurse," I say to the man next to me, "Please escort Dr. Carter back to his bed and put his restraints back on."  
  
"I don't need to be restrained!" he shouts out.  
  
To the nurse I say, "Do it." To Carter I order, "Lay down for him. Be good and maybe you'll get them off early." I know this is not true since he was a danger to himself. It will be up to the psychiatrist to take them off. And now I'm off to fix-up doctor number two.  
  
On the way to the ER floor Peter starts to wake up. He mumbles, "What's going on?"  
  
"You fainted. You haven't been sleeping or eating enough. And I'm guessing that you are dehydrated too. So I am keeping you here overnight—"  
  
"That's not necessary, Robert."  
  
"I think it is. You fainted and we need to make sure it won't happen again. Just think of it as a vacation. It's a good chance for you to get some sleep, eat some decent food, all in all replenish your body."  
  
"But what about Carter?"  
  
"They have capable doctors upstairs. And I'll check on him every once and a while. Now rest up, Dr. Benton."  
  
I go upstairs to the psych floor and find that not only is Carter back in restraints but Dr. DeRaad is also in the room, sitting next to the bed. DeRaad is trying to make him talk but Carter has his head facing the other way and isn't saying a word.  
  
Out of no where Carter starts thrashing his arms and legs in the restraints and shouts out, "Where the fuck is Dr. Benton!"  
  
I enter the room and must have startled DeRaad because he jumps up from his seat and asks, "May I help you, Dr. Romano?"  
  
"No." I turn to Carter and say, "Peter won't be able to sit with you for a while. It seems that he was up here so much that he wore himself out. He needs some rest. But I suggest you tell the shrinks up here whatever it is that you told Peter earlier." And I walk out. I know I was harsh but I have better things to do than baby-sit this addict. 


	25. Restraints and Realizations

Hope you enjoy this chapter. I wrote it at 2 in the morning. Reviews are welcome.  
  
**Chapter 25: August. 31, 2000, 5:30PM, Hospital Room (John Carter's Point of View):  
**  
I am so scared! But it's not just that. I am so confused that I don't know what's going on in my head anymore. And now they took Dr. Benton away. He's the only person who knows what's going on. I heard that my parents are on their way, and my Gamma has been here since I arrived. I don't want to see my family right now. And I especially don't want Dr. DeRaad here asking me all these ridiculous questions! I have to get out of here somehow.  
  
I test the strength of the restraints. To anyone else it probably looks like I am trying to escape, thrashing and kicking around.  
  
DeRaad has been talking this whole time. Finally I shout at him, "Stop talking!"  
  
He stops what he is saying but continues with, "Dr. Carter, all I'm trying to do is help you figure out why you tried to end your life—."  
  
"Fine. Fine!" I stop struggling. I can't stand this anymore. I am not crazy! I am not crazy! I am not crazy! Just let me die!  
  
"What did you say, John?" There is a concerned look on DeRaad's face. Did I say that out loud? No, I couldn't have. I chuckle to myself but quickly stop when I realize I probably look even crazier now. I am lost in my thoughts for a moment but then hear the shrink again.  
  
"John? John? Dr. Carter? Are you okay?"  
  
I try to look him in the face but the restraints won't allow me to very well. I give up and simply say, "Isn't that what you're here to determine?"  
  
"I am here to help you answer that question."  
  
"Okay, I'll answer it." I am sick of these silly insignificant questions. "I am okay. I'm doing pretty well right now. But I'd be doing a lot better if I didn't have these restraints on."  
  
DeRaad ignores that last comment of mine and responds, "Well, if you are doing so well, why do you think you are here today?"  
  
"You guys made a mistake obviously," I plainly say.  
  
"You think so? Because you seem to have some pretty serious cuts on your wrists and I think any doctor would agree that life can't be that good when you do that to yourself."  
  
Now I have to bring out a little sarcasm to this conversation, "Well, I disagree and I'm a doctor—."  
  
"Dr. Carter, your jokes will not get you out of here any faster."  
  
Oh no, I have angered him.  
  
"Ok," I respond, "I was so fucking doped up that I didn't know what the hell I was doing."  
  
"Is that the only reason?"  
  
I'm getting pissed off again. "Why the fuck so you people keep asking me these questions?! I told all this to Dr. Montgomery already. Wait, why isn't she here?"  
  
"Dr. Montgomery had another patient she needed to attend to so you're stuck with me for now." DeRaad clears his throat and continues, "Okay, Dr. Carter, would you like to talk about the drugs?"  
  
I sigh and ask, "What about them?"  
  
"What have you been taking?"  
  
"Pain medicine."  
  
"What were you taking that for?"  
  
I can't believe this guy. "For when I was stabbed in the back." I try to look at him again, "You remember that don't you? The psych consult didn't come down fast enough and Paul Sobricki stabbed me and Lucy with an eight inch knife—!"  
  
"Doctor, please don't get excited or I may be forced to sedate you."  
  
"Please do, I need a good buzz." I meant this comment as a joke, but suddenly it sounded so good. I moan to myself, "Oh, Jesus."  
  
"What is it, John?"  
  
"I am a drug addict, aren't I?" I don't want to believe it. It can't be true. I'm Dr. John Truman Carter III, the son of the ER. I was practically raised there. Their perfect little boy. Not so perfect anymore, I guess.  
  
I am brought back to reality as DeRaad says, "It seems that you have a physical addiction and most likely a psychological addiction as well. Did you ever take any illegal substances?"  
  
"No . . . wait," I try to remember, "Yes. I used heroin once, a while ago when the morphine wasn't working. But I knew I couldn't use that again."  
  
Okay. And I see you were taking antidepressants as well. Were they helping you at all?"  
  
All I can say is, "Doctor, you are aware of those papercuts on my wrists, right?" He just watches me. Okay, not a time for joking I guess. I continue, "I'm sorry. I guess think is just overwhelming. Yes, the antidepressants did help a little, but obviously not enough. And I felt like a fake person when I took them so I often didn't take what I should have." And then I took the pain meds I shouldn't have.  
  
"John, do you know what may have set off your depression?"  
  
I know the answer, but I don't want to say it. I try to think hard for another reason but there is none.  
  
I respond, "Lucy's death is my fault. I should have been paying attention to how she was dealing with her patient. Maybe I could have gotten you guys to come down faster. But I can't change the past," I keep hearing myself say this. "She'd dead and it's because of me." Oh, no. I feel the tears forming again. I try to laugh off the tears and say, "I can't believe that I'm crying. I never cry."  
  
"It's okay, John. You lost a close friend of yours. Maybe you have needed to cry for a while."  
  
I make a weak chuckle again as I try to stop the tears and say, "God, I need a smoke. You don't think there's anyway I could go out and have one, do you?"  
  
"Sorry, John, but you know I can't do that." He jots something down in his chart and continues, "Maybe your stay here will help you quit."  
  
But I barely hear him say this because I am trying not to start crying again. It's kind of funny how I am opening up so much after putting up such a fight about it.  
  
DeRaad asks me, "John, is there something more you would like to tell me?"  
  
I try to shake my head, though I am sure it looks like I am just rolling it back and forth on the pillow. I finally say, "I just can't believe how bad it's gotten. If you had said to me a year ago that I would become a drug addict, I would never have believed you."  
  
"But it's an addiction that you can fight and we will help you here at the hospital. And your friends and family will support you—."  
  
"You don't know my family."  
  
"I'm sure they will be glad to know you are okay and safe."  
  
"No, no." That's the last thing my family will feel. "I'm number two in my family now."  
  
I don't think he heard me because he continues, "And you are an adult, John. As long as you take responsibility for your actions and seek help—."  
  
"That's not what they will be worried about." After all, I know my family better than DeRaad does.  
  
"Okay, enlighten me then." He leans back in his chair.  
  
"I am the second addict in my family. I helped hide my cousin Chase's addiction and tried to detox him myself. But he OD'd again and now he's a vegetable." I pause and think carefully of how to express myself. "My family will only care about the fucking press."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I am a Carter . . ." He gives me a blank look so I continue, "As in _the_ Carter's, and _the_ Carter Family Foundation."  
  
It takes him a moment and then I hear, "Ah, the one that gives donations to this hospital."  
  
"Yeah, and I'm sure they won't be pleases to read about how young Dr. Carter, heir to the family fortune, is in a psych ward for an overdose and slit wrists." I close my eyes and sigh, "This is fucking great."  
  
"Like I said," DeRaad states, "I'm sure they will be happy to know that you are alive. Is there anything else that you would like to talk about?"  
  
I keep my eyes closed and say, "No." I wish I could fall asleep right now, but I can't.  
  
"Okay, well, I'll be back later." I hear him leave but I don't want to open my eyes just yet. I need to think . . .  
  
It went too far and that's all there is to it. I should have known the warning signs to my own addiction. But I was in so much pain! But, then again, was I taking the drugs for the physical pain or to get rid of the memories? Now I'm thankful that I can't sleep. Whenever I do, I relive that awful Valentine's night. I don't want to think about that.  
  
So how about something else. Like how I almost succeeded at suicide? Yet another thing I can't believe. Did I want to die that bad? Yes. Do I still?  
  
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear someone come in and ask, "Dr. Carter?"  
  
I keep my eyes closed as I answer, "Yes?"  
  
"You have a visitor."  
  
I hear a woman's voice say, "I'm sorry." I can't place the voice so I am forced to open my eyes.  
  
She repeats, "I'm sorry."  
  
And I understand. 


	26. Anonymous Chapter :

Ok, so you don't know who's point of view this is in . . . but I do!!  
  
**Chapter 26: August. 31, 2000, 5:30PM, Hospital Room**  
  
His eyes are closed as I enter the hospital room.  
  
"I'm sorry," is all I can think to say.  
  
His eyes open and his expression changes from confusion, to anger . . . to surrender.  
  
"I'm sorry," I repeat.  
  
He looks like he can't think of what to say. He opens his mouth but stops. I want to run out of the room, crying. This could have all been avoided, but because of me this wonderful doctor had to go through all this pain. My thoughts are silenced as he speaks.  
  
"Why," his voice cracks as he tried to make out the words, "Why are you here?" I can tell he's on the verge of crying. I wish we could just hug and cry together and that everything would go back to normal. But unfortunately life doesn't work like that . . . at least not our lives.  
  
I finally respond to his question, "Just to tell you what I've already said. I didn't think this would happen. I didn't know how bad it was."  
  
"Neither did I," is all he manages to say. He rolls his head to the side. That's about all he can do, being restrained. God he looks so pitiful. It's as if he's a criminal, shackled to his prison bed. No, it's worse than that. He is a criminal, and he's his own victim. I don't know if I should let him be or if I should stay and talk more. I decide on the latter.  
  
I walk over to the side of his bed so that we are facing each other again. "Dr. Carter, if there was a way for me to change what happened, trust me, I would but—."  
  
"Just stop it!" he suddenly yells at me. "You are only here because you feel guilty and you want me to forgive you. Well, fine, you're forgiven. Are you happy now?"  
  
"No, that doesn't make me happy. I made a mistake and since you came in a few days ago I have been trying to convince myself that it wouldn't have made a difference if I had told anyone what I saw!"  
  
"Abby—"  
  
"No, listen!" I know I am yelling and I really don't care anymore. "And the more I thought about it, the more I realized that if I had told Dr. Greene or Dr. Weaver about it they would have found a way to stop you . . . and help you. But they didn't know until it was too late." I taste salt in the corner of my mouth but I don't care that I am crying.  
  
"Nothing you could have done would have made any difference!" he shouts. He rolls his head back to the center of the pillow. "I did this to myself. I'm the only one to blame. Plus, another doctor knew. He confronted me and I ignored him. He told Mark and Kerry. They confronted me and I left. And I guess everyone knows now, huh?"  
  
"I don't know about everyone, but a lot of people do know by now. There was no way to hide it."  
  
Again it looks like Carter is about to start crying, but somehow he holds back. I don't know how he can be that strong at a time like this. I still feel hot tears running down my face as he repeats, "I did this to myself . . . ," It's as if he is trying to convince himself more than he is trying to convince me. ". . . and it's something I'll have to live with, not you. And I suggest that you don't let them know that you saw me injecting the fentynal in May. I don't want you to be punished for something I did."  
  
He sounds so weak. Even though, or maybe because, I didn't help him before, I wish I could help him now. But I am not a psychiatrist. There is nothing for me to do for him.  
  
I walk toward the door and say back to him, "I hope I see you around, Dr. Carter," but he has already fallen asleep. As I leave the room I think to myself, "Maybe now he will be able to get some temporary peace of mind." 


	27. Visitors

**Chapter 27: August. 31, 2000, 6:30PM, Hospital Room (John Carter's Point of View):**  
  
When Abby was first talking to me I felt so much anger toward her. I agreed with everything she was saying. But it didn't feel right to let her walk away with all that guilt. I had to tell her not to worry, but I too wonder what would have happened if Abby had reported me. I used to be afraid that she would. Now I wish she had. But, like I told her, there is no point in telling Mark and Kerry. It'll just cause more trouble.  
  
I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I know Abby is gone and in her place are Mark and Kerry. Christ, why can't everybody just leave me alone for a while?  
  
Mark speaks first. "Welcome back."  
  
"Back?" I chuckle, "Funny, I thought this was my first time in hell."  
  
Kerry steps forward. "I know this is all very confusing, John. But believe me when I say that we are here for you and still want to help you with whatever you need. The offer still stands about the drug rehab—."  
  
"Kerry," I interrupt.  
  
"John, you need to see that you have a problem with narcotics."  
  
"I know I do." Both of them are looking at me now. "I know I need help and I'm going to get it." Suddenly I don't feel well. I mean, I haven't felt well since I was brought in, but now . . . "Oh God," I moan, "I'm gonna be sick." I roll my head to the side and, just as Mark slides a basin next to me, I vomit. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry," I mumble. I don't want to look at them because I am so embarrassed.  
  
Mark replaces the soiled basin with a clean one and responds, "It's okay, Carter. You're going through withdrawal. It's going to get pretty bad for a while—."  
  
"I know." Why is he telling me this? "I helped my cousin through this. But it happened so suddenly." I am shivering now, "It shouldn't happen this fast."  
  
Kerry steps forward, "It can be different for each person . . ." She continues speaking but I really don't want to listen to her right now.  
  
I interrupt whatever she is saying and blurt out, "I need to leave! I need to get out of here!" I try to sit up quickly, but I am jerked back by my restraints.  
  
"And where would you go?" Mark asks. I try to look at him. He has moved toward the back of the room and is standing with his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
"I don't know," my mind is racing now. I can't think straight, "it doesn't matter. I just can't be here anymore. This is going to kill me!" My stomach suddenly tightens and cramps. I try to curl into a ball but the restraints on my wrists and ankles prohibit me from moving. Christ! I feel like I am dying! All I can do to fight the pain is clench my jaws and wait for it to pass. I am crying again. I can feel the hot tears stream down my face and mix with the sweat that is starting to drench me. I get a brief break from the pain and take this opportunity to plead for my freedom again. When I open my eyes I see Mark, once again putting down a new basin. He gently wipes my face with tissue. I must have vomited again and not even realized it. I don't know if I am more of a prisoner or a helpless child. Maybe a combination of the two.  
  
I want to speak, but I can't find the energy to even open my mouth. Suddenly a sharp pain pierces my back. Without the pain medicine, I don't know if I can handle my back pain. I wince and try to fight back from crying. But after a few seconds of suffering, I break out in sobs.  
  
Mark must understand the look in my eyes because he says, "We'll do everything we can to make you more comfortable, Carter."  
  
Finally I can speak again and all I can think to say is, "Help me, please."  
  
Kerry puts her hand over mine. She looks at me and, with a tear in her eye, she says, "That's why we're here, John. But we have to leave for a little while. Don't worry, we'll be back later." She slowly lets go of my hand and follows Mark out of the room, leaving me alone. I know before I said I wanted to be alone, but now I wish someone was with me. Luckily the chills and nausea are gone. My body wants to shut down again. Maybe I'll close my eyes for just a minute . . .  
  
No matter how many naps I take, when I wake up I always feel bad, if not worse than before. I must have been asleep for quite a while because as I wake up I notice that it is dark outside. I close my eyes and try to find a more comfortable position, but am unsuccessful. A pain, like before shoots up my back, and, again, I clench my jaws to fight the pain.  
  
Suddenly someone starts speaking, "I'd offer you some pain medicine, but that's why you're here in the first place, isn't it?"  
  
I open my eyes and wait for them to focus. There at the foot of my bead stands Dr. Ross. I don't know how I missed seeing him a minute ago.  
  
He continues, "So, how's it going, Carter?"  
  
"It hurts." I swallow and take a deep breath. "Isn't there anything I can have for the pain? I need something." Oh, no. I can feel the sweat on my brow and the chills through my body. "Not again," I say just before I start heaving and coughing. Apparently I have nothing left to throw up. The coughing lasts only a minute and then I mumble, "Please, Dr. Ross."  
  
"Carter, you can't have any drugs. You need to fight this addiction."  
  
"I should have listened to you a long time ago." The pain has stopped for now . . . no, I was wrong. It shoots straight from my tailbone to the top of my neck and I scream in agony, making Doug jump and tears come to my eyes. I haven't felt pain that bad since the day I was stabbed. Once the pain subsides, I try to catch my breath. Staring at the ceiling, I beg Doug, "Anything. Give me anything."  
  
"Carter, I already told you that I can't give you any narcotics. All we can give you is some Ibuprofen. Would you like that?"  
  
I nod my head vigorously, "Yes, yes, please." I feel so selfish right now. I am not the only person in the world with problems. I feel as if I am demanding a lot from my co-workers. I am shaken from my thoughts when I hear Doug again.  
  
"You are very lucky to be alive, Carter."  
  
Oh, geeze, he's lecturing me? I respond, "I know I am. And I'm lucky I have so many people helping me—." Another pain shoots through my back, although this one is no where near as bad as the last one.  
  
Doug speaks again, "I'll see about that Ibuprofen." And he leaves.  
  
I hear someone else enter the room and I assume that it is Doug. But when the person comes closer to the bed, I see it's Mark.  
  
"Mark," I can hear desperation in my voice, "Dr. Ross just went to get some mild pain reliever for my back." I can only imagine how I appear this man. I must look like any other drug addict that comes to the hospital. But I'm a two-for-one with my slit wrists as friends to my track marks. I would kick myself for letting this happen if was able to move now.  
  
"Okay, I'll see about that later. Listen Carter," he sits in the chair next to the bed, "I spoke to DeRaad about the restraints being removed. He said that to help with your back he wants you to move to a 'safe room' where you will be able to move freely in your room but you will be monitored 24/7."  
  
"Okay, I can live with that." I don't care what it takes for me to get these damn restraints off.  
  
"And you will be locked in the room."  
  
Okay, that gets my attention. Locked in? I must have looked upset about this because Mark tries to explain.  
  
"These rooms are for high risk patients. Honestly, you were almost in one of these from the start."  
  
"How long will I be in there?"  
  
"It's hard to say. But if you go there, you will probably start drug treatment up there. You could be there a while."  
  
"Or I could stay here for a little while longer and be released once I'm not a danger—"  
  
"And risk not coming back to County."  
  
I am stunned. I can't think. I say, "Where's Dr. Benton? I need to ask him what to do."  
  
"He's not here now, Carter. And you need to decide quickly."  
  
"Where's Peter!?" I hear myself yell.  
  
"He was admitted earlier for exhaustion. John, you have to make this decision by yourself. There's only one of these rooms available right now, so you need to decide quickly."  
  
This shouldn't be a hard decision for me. Either way I am in the psych ward. Just a few minutes ago I told myself that I needed help for my drug problem. But even then it didn't seem real. Suddenly it does. How important is working here at County to me? This job is my life. I would do anything to keep it. . . Well, almost anything. And does that include being locked up for an indefinite time and being labeled as crazy? I'm not crazy. God, how many times have I told myself that today? And I don't know if I can trust these people when they say that a job will be here for me when I am recovered. What happens if I am locked up for months just to be released and kicked to the street? There are risks no matter which way I decide to go. But I have my answer. 


	28. Epilogue

****

_this is the last chapter of this fanfic. i hope everyone enjoyed it!_

**Chapter 28: October 1st, 2000, 3:00 PM, Chicago (John Carter's Point of View):**  
  
I was in the 'safe room' for thirty days. I guess the answer was always obvious. Even though I did not want to ruin my pride, I couldn't risk not coming back to County. So I went to the 'safe room' not knowing what to expect.  
  
The first week was the hardest. I was still going through withdrawal. My family came and left, rather quickly. It was probably best that way. They didn't need to see me in the shape I was in. I can't begin to imagine how I looked. I was able to trade my paper gown for a set of scrubs. The nurses and doctors at first did not like this idea, but I told them that I just wanted to be a step closer to dignity. I wasn't allowed to shave my own face; one of the nurses did that for me. And I didn't eat much in there. I just didn't have much of an appetite. But in the end I am glad that I cleaned up my act.  
  
I was released today. And although I am just as scrawny as before, I do look much better. Benton offered to drive me home, but I declined the offer. I told him that I needed to walk around for a while. Honestly, I was surprised I could function, let alone walk around Chicago, without the pain meds I had been using for so long. Yes, my back still bothers me every so often, but I can handle it now. I was back in physical therapy the last two weeks of my stay, mainly to teach me how to cope with the pain. I am required to go to ninety NA or AA meetings and continue going to therapy for a while if I want to return to County. But I won't be able to start there for a while either. Kerry and Mark don't want me to rush back into work. And they also have set very strict rules that I must follow, including no access to narcotics and random drug tests.  
  
I can't go to work and I don't want to go home. So now I don't know what to do with myself. The first thing I did upon my release was buy a pack of cigarettes. And I have been walking around so long that the pack is almost empty. I guess it is better to have this addiction than the other one. And strangely now I find myself in the ambulance bay of County. I turn and walk into Doc Magoo's. For a while I sit in silence, just drinking coffee and smoking. But then I spot her.  
  
"Hey," I call out. She comes over and sits down across from me.  
  
"I didn't think you would ever want to talk to me again," she says to me. She stares at the table as if she is afraid to look me in the eyes.  
  
"After what I said to you, I was afraid you wouldn't talk to me," I respond. This gets her to look up. I continue, "I am very sorry for what I said. And I wish I hadn't put you in that position."  
  
"What position?"  
  
"Seeing what I did, and not knowing what to do about it." I take a drag from my cigarette. "I don't know what I was thinking when I started using. I probably wasn't thinking at all."  
  
"That's how it usually goes I guess. But you are looking much better now."  
  
"Thank you. I guess I couldn't look much worse than the last time you saw me." We both nervously laugh at that comment.  
  
She looks like she wants to say something, but is unsure if she should. So I decide to help her along, "You don't have to be careful around me, Abby. You can say whatever you want to say."  
  
"Well, it's nothing big. I was just wondering how you are feeling now."  
  
"Umm . . . every day I feel a little better than the last. Usually at least. I've had my ups and downs. But I think I am handling it pretty well now," I feel as if I said that before. I am snapped out of my thoughts when I hear Abby again.  
  
"What are you thinking about?"  
  
I chuckle to myself and respond, "The last time I said that I was trying to convince Dr. Montgomery that I wasn't suicidal. It was before anyone knew about the drugs." I stop and correct myself. "I guess you knew then." I am ashamed of myself again. Now I am the one trying to avoid eye contact. I stub out my cigarette and light a fresh one. I feel as if Abby is really listening to me, not like the psychologists I have been forced to speak to. It's as if she understands what I am going through, maybe because she has known about it the longest.  
  
I finally continue talking, "I have a long way to go, but I'm getting there." I think that is the best explanation I can give to anyone.  
  
"I'm glad to here that, Dr. Carter." She looks at her watch and says, "My break is over. I should get back." She starts to walk away but turns back and continues, "I look forward to you coming back," and she leaves.  
  
As I sit there alone, once again, I say in a whisper, "So do I."  
  
FIN


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